


The Moon

by Antecanis



Series: The Moon [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Father/Son Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antecanis/pseuds/Antecanis
Summary: Young Assassin Connor Kenway tentatively agrees to help his father Haytham Kenway, Templar Grand Master and CEO of Abstergo Industries, with a private mission. But all too soon, the past catches up to him - not just his own past with Haytham, but a more distant time, in which he might be in even more dire need of his father's help...
Relationships: Haytham Kenway/Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor
Series: The Moon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818631
Comments: 20
Kudos: 50
Collections: To Save





	1. The Airport Hotel

**Author's Note:**

> This Modern AU is a tie in for my story Voyage to the Moon. I hope you enjoy the short addition!

Connor had barely closed the door of his apartment behind himself as he started to get rid of his dirty and bloodied clothing. An easy mission had gone wrong and he wanted nothing more than a shower. His body ached, and he knew that the hot water would help him relax enough to find some sleep later – along with some strong painkillers. It was relatively early still, but he couldn’t wait to crawl into his bed and try to forget how wrong everything had gone today. He had already reported his disappointing results to the Assassin headquarters, and now he longed for an evening of peace and quiet - sleep or streaming some random show sounded about perfect.

He stepped under the rush of hot water and gave a soft sigh of relief. Leaning against the cool tiles, he started to survey the level of a beating he had gotten. It should have been an unremarkable stalking mission without any fighting involved, but… someone had tipped them off about his presence, and about five guys had attacked him with baseball bats. Of course he had made it – of course he had been able to fight them off, but… He traced the bruises on his skin. He was lucky nothing was broken. But he knew that these colourful bruises would linger on his body for a few days, and the aching would accompany his training for a while, too.

Just as he was about to finish up his shower, he could hear his cell phone ring – only _one_ contact made it ring, so he knew it was urgent. Cursing to himself, he stumbled out of the shower and picked up just in time before the other person hung up.

“Yes.”

“You have to head over to the tower tonight.”, Shaun said; not bothering with any sort of introduction or greeting.

 _“What?_ Why? You know that I-“ Connor stiffened. The tower was, importantly, the _Abstergo_ tower – Connor's former workplace. He had worked there for two years until… He shuddered.

“I know, I know. But we got some intel that they’re having an important meeting tomorrow – from what we know it’s about a new project involving an apple. These internal things are kept strictly analogue to prevent people like me getting to them digitally, but -”

“No.”

“I’m not finished. Let me talk, will you? The Grand Master –“ Shaun's voice grew more exasperated.

“No!”

“Connor. Don’t be bloody ridiculous. Come on. We just need the project files before –“

“I said no!”

 _“Come on_ , Connor, you’re in and out in no time – nothing will be missing. You just take a few pictures of the files, and that’s it. Please?”

“I said that I won’t do it. I told you – I can’t use that connection. It’s too risky. It’s the _one_ thing I asked you not to ask of me.”, Connor responded, but he could feel his resistance wavering. After all, he had fucked up the mission today - well, technically, it hadn't been his fault, but the result was lacking all the same.

“The meeting is tomorrow morning – we only got the intel today. I'm telling you. There’s no other way. You’re the only one who can do it. We need to know what’s in that file. We need to know what the Templars are up to – truce or not!”

_Fuck._

* * *

Connor opened the door to the Grand Master’s office and slipped in; sighing softly in relief because it had worked out – he had made his way up to the CEO’s office without running into any problems. While he officially didn't have access to the building anymore, he knew it well enough bypass security with a stolen ID. He had promised his father not to ever use this knowledge as long as the truce lasted, but... here he was. The moment he had closed the door of his father's office behind himself, he realized his mistake. It had indeed all gone _too_ well.

Haytham Kenway, CEO of Abstergo and Grand Master of the American Rite, barely glanced up from his laptop; a glass of red wine in the one hand; the other resting on a gun on the table. “Good evening, Connor. You’re late.”, he remarked; entirely unimpressed by his son's sudden appearance.

Connor briefly considered just high-tailing out of there, but he knew it made little sense – if the other wanted to stop him, he easily could. The place was crawling with Templar security, and Haytham could probably lock the gates and trap him in the skyscraper quickly – it would be dangerous to get out of such a situation, and certainly not worth the risk. His shoulders slumped and he approached the CEO’s table; eyeing the gun with some uneasiness – while he was rather certain that it was a precaution rather than a threat, he disliked being unarmed when the Templar Grand Master had a weapon so readily at hand.

Connor glanced at the other. His father was entirely too unsurprised by his presence. “You were the source of the information, weren’t you?”, Connor asked with some consternation. “You knew they’d sent me – it’s the only way on such a short notice, isn’t it?”

Haytham looked up from his laptop and closed it; his hand leaving the grip of the gun and not returning to it. A small smile played around his lips, and Connor wondered if he sometimes thought of what had happened between them here.

The young man was snapped from his distracting thoughts when Haytham hummed rather than verbally responded to his son’s assertion. The CEO’s bright eyes rested upon the young Assassin, and Connor tried his best not to fidget. Why was he here?

“You look like shit, frankly. Have you eaten yet?” Haytham's voice was mild, and the young man reckoned that whatever was going on, the Templar was not looking for a fight.

Clenching his jaw, Connor averted his gaze. “I… I guess I could eat.”, he muttered; too exhausted to give a fuck at this point. It really had been a hell of a day.

An hour later, they were seated at a classy restaurant in downtown Manhattan – getting a table here and on such a short notice was doubtlessly a favour owed to Haytham, one way or another.

“You could have called if you wanted to… meet.”, Connor mumbled; doing his best to stare at the menu in his hands rather than his father. The restaurant was so pricey that there was no information on how much anything cost, and it made him a little nervous.

Haytham gave a huff, and it sounded amused, but Connor managed to keep his eyes on the menu instead of looking up to observe his father’s facial expression.

“You know that’s not quite true.”, the Grand Master said, his voice chiding.

Connor remained silent. Haytham was probably right. Either he would have suspected his father was up to something and gotten nervous or jumpy, or the message might have been intercepted by his Brothers and Sisters from the Creed, and they might have tried to influence him – to not see his father, or to use the meeting to their advantage. And then there was… the history between them; the past that made it awkward to be around one another – or at least… Connor couldn’t stop thinking about it; no matter how hard he tried, or how much time passed.

A waiter came, and Connor realized that he had not really paid attention to the menu as of yet.

“A very good evening to you, gentlemen. Are you ready to order or would you like a recommendation?”

“We are ready to order.”, Haytham replied.

Connor was about to protest, but Haytham placed a hand on his wrist, and the young man fell silent again. His father had always had a… _an intense_ presence. The young man stared at the hand on his own, and then, suddenly, realized that the waiter was gone again. He had been too distracted by memories of how these hands had felt on him, almost three years ago.

“Did… did we order?”, he asked, glancing up at his father and immediately being caught in the other’s bright stare.

Haytham seemed amused; retreating his hand and placing the restaurant's napkin in his lap. “Yes. I ordered for us. You are vegetarian now, are you not?”

Connor nodded; unsure why or how his father knew this. As far as he remembered, he hadn't told him - they were not exactly... talking regularly.

“I ordered the truffle risotto for you, and the ricotta ravioli for me. We can swap if you prefer. They have a good white wine that I think will go well with both dishes.”

Connor nodded again; unsure what else to do. “I’m fine with either.”, he muttered. He hadn’t been out for dinner with his father in… months, and he was still confused how to act around Haytham – there was so much in his head all the time; so many thoughts and feelings that made it difficult to stay as attentive as he needed to be.

“Why… why are we here, raké:ni?”, he asked quietly; mirroring Haytham’s action and placing the napkin in his lap. He was actually rather hungry, and he knew the food would be good. Part of him wished he was at home and in bed, but... strangely enough, it was not a bad feeling to have dinner with his father again. It certainly was a distraction from the events of the day.

Haytham seemed to briefly consider postponing this part of their conversation until after dinner, but then clearly came to the conclusion that it would be best to get this out of the way first. “I want to ask a favour of you.”, he replied musingly; his bright eyes fixating Connor.

The young man’s heart missed a beat – unsure what to think about this. It probably meant nothing good if the Templar Grand Master asked him, an Assassin, for a favour. “What is this about?”, Connor asked hesitantly; wondering if he really wanted to know. “You know I can’t… I won’t betray my-“

Haytham shook his head and Connor fell silent.

“It’s a personal favour, which will not compromise your position.”

Connor fidgeted with his hands; wanting to believe the other, but also highly aware that the Grand Master usually had some ulterior motives. “Why me?” Haytham had plenty of men at his disposal – why would he want the help of his Assassin son? Especially after… with their history.

Haytham seemed amused if anything - somehow it maddened Connor that the other was so entertained by him. “My right-hand man is currently overseas, so you are the only one capable and trustworthy enough.”

Trustworthy? Connor squinted at his father. Was Haytham being sarcastic? They were enemies. Well, there was a truce in place, and he had played his part in making it happen, but… they had never been close... at least not… as father and son; not in a way that… mattered in this particular context, Connor reckoned. Then again… He had no plans to hurt his father (the thought was strangely upsetting, even), and even when Haytham had had his gun by his side in the office earlier, Connor hadn’t been worried for his own safety. He sighed. “You need to tell me more.”

“Very well…”

* * *

A day later, Connor was packing up things for a weekend trip. He had told his Brothers and Sisters that it was a private emergency, and in a sense, it wasn’t a lie. Of course, Shaun and the others had tried to get more information out of him – and maybe, they would try to check on him – but Connor had remained quiet about the true destination of his trip. His father had urged him to make sure he was not followed, and had helped him to devise a strategy that could be executed on such a short notice.

He drove out of New York City and to his grandmother’s village, where he left his car and his phone at a family friend’s house. From there, he walked to the nearest grocery store, where he took a back exit. A car was waiting for him there, and brought him to a small, local airport. From there, he took a private airplane back to New York City. He was exhausted by the time he returned – but he reckoned he had lost anyone following him.

Haytham had not been entirely forthcoming on why he was so determined to assure that Connor wasn’t followed – but the young man knew better than to nag the older man. The Grand Master had been open enough about what he wanted from Connor on this mission; enough to have the young man agree to help him. Connor hoped that his father would tell him more once they were further into it. It was a stakeout, more or less, and for now, it only lasted for the weekend. There was nothing that set off his inner alarm just yet – he had to do not much aside from track a specific person alongside Haytham; be a second pair of eyes and ears. Of course, he would be careful. Of course, he was aware that Haytham Kenway was not the American Grand Master for nothing. Who knew if he had some other plan – Connor would do his best to stay as alert as he could. But he also knew that… he had troubles saying no to Haytham, no matter how stubborn he tried to keep his demeanour around the older man.

The young Assassin checked into a specific airport hotel the way his father had instructed him to – using the fake ID Haytham had supplied him with. There was a room booked in its name, and he had no troubles getting everything in order.

The whole round-trip had cost him most of the day, and his body was still aching from the beating he had gotten the day prior. He felt sweaty and exhausted despite the wintery temperatures outside. He threw his duffel bag on the hotel room bed and considered taking a shower. He hesitated briefly – but Haytham had only requested his presence in the morning, so he had time to himself for now. Maybe Haytham hadn’t even arrived yet – who knew.

Connor retreated into the shower and once more enjoyed the warm water easing his sore, stiff muscles. The hotel was relatively fancy, and he was glad his father was paying for all of this. He massaged his aching neck and tried not to think too much about the past. What had happened between Haytham and him had no future, and he really needed to forget about that night. It had been almost three years, and… there was no sign that Haytham ever wanted to revisit that chapter of their past.

A knock on the door startled the young man, and he tensed.

“It’s me. Are you there?”

It was Haytham’s voice, and Connor relaxed a little. What was it with his showers getting interrupted lately? He sighed to himself and switched off the water – throwing a towel around his waist and calling out, “Yes, father.”

He unlocked the door and opened it just a bit; glancing at the older man expectantly. They hadn't set up a meeting for the evening, had they?

Haytham was wearing some rather casual outfit – unusual for him, and probably for the best on a stakeout. Connor did his best not to think about it - think about how tightly that black turtle neck sweater hugged his father's broad frame, or how those jeans really fit him nicely.

The older man motioned for Connor to open the door further, and the young man hesitantly obeyed; letting Haytham into his room.

“How was your trip?”, Haytham asked; glancing around.

Connor shrugged; feeling a bit awkward as he closed the door; still only having the towel flung around his waist and all too aware of the colourful bruises shimmering on his bronze skin. “It went smoothly.”

The Templar stepped a bit closer, and Connor wished his heart wouldn’t throb so intensely.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’m just… having some sore muscles from…” He left the rest of the sentence unspoken; guessing Haytham was experienced enough to put the pieces together. Indeed, the older man smiled mildly, and Connor averted his gaze.

“I can help with that.”, Haytham muttered.

Connor’s heart leapt in his chest, and he scolded himself internally for jumping to silly conclusions. “Huh?”, he brought out; unable to form a more coherent sentence as his mind had troubles getting itself out of the gutter.

Redness burned on his cheeks as Haytham approached the bed; sitting down and patting the space next to him.

“Growing up, I looked like that a lot.”, the Grand Master said with some amusement. “Come. I’ll give you a massage. I promise it will help with the soreness – I need you to be ready to sit still for a long while and then potentially pursue someone tomorrow if it comes to it. Won’t work if you are in pain for most of the day.”

Connor nodded mutely; his heart aching. Of course, _a massage._ What else did he have in mind?

As he sat down next to his father, he knew very well why he had been thinking of something else entirely…


	2. The Christmas Party

Three years ago, Connor had not known who his father was. Three years ago, Connor Hill, the Assassin, had just begun working at Abstergo’s. He had been a novice within the Brotherhood, and the decision for him to be sent undercover was mainly owed to his spotless record, and his recent graduation top of his class from Columbia University. He knew his way around New York City, and he brought many physical and intellectual abilities that were required for such a risky mission.

His application to Abstergo was preceded by months of preparation. Eventually, he made his way through several interviews, and was hired as a corporate legal assistant. It was a very well-paid desk job in on one of the lower floors of the tower; a job that many civilians would have been thrilled to secure. But Connor wasn't looking for financial stability or a career within Abstergo's legal department. He was there for information. During his work, he managed to sneak around other floors on occasion. While he was not included in Templar-related legal cases himself, he was the Brotherhood’s eyes and ears within the building, and managed to gather important data during his time there.

Of course, Haytham hadn’t overseen his application. As CEO, he was not concerned with just any legal assistant, and Connor had never met him in person until his first Abstergo Christmas party.

Sure, he had known who Haytham was prior to his job at Abstergo. He would have been able to say that Haytham Kenway was the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company, dominating the industry in software, hardware, VR, AI and social media technology. He could have said that the older man was frequently on the cover of Time magazine, Forbes, as well as all over social media, newspapers and blogging sites. Connor would have been able to admit that he was an attractive man. But in the end, he hadn’t known much about the other personally – why would he bother with such information? It wasn’t as if he had anything to do with someone so powerful and rich. Or so he had thought.

His crush on the older man had only really developed during his time preparing for his job at Abstergo’s. He had learned about CEO Kenway being the Grand Master of the American Rite, and he had watched interviews and other footage of Haytham to find out about the Grand Master’s motives, strategies, weaknesses and plans. He had read articles and news spreads; including some questionable pages of the tabloid press stalking Haytham at, say, a beach vacation, wearing nothing but shorts and showing off his surprisingly… muscular body. It had been an important part of Connor's _research,_ certainly. 

Sometimes, he had allowed himself to fantasize about Haytham finding out that he was a spy, and punishing him in… well, sexual ways. It was a foolish fantasy; even back then he had been embarrassed about it. Haytham was the enemy – and if he would find a spy amongst his ranks, he would probably not hesitate to kill him. And yet, Connor couldn’t help but wish he would get to meet the Templar one day.

The Christmas party, which took place three months after he had been hired, was the first time he was in the same room as Haytham. Conceptually, it was an unusual party in that it was meant to get a large group of Abstergo employees socializing, without different departments and ranks immediately clustering together. Hence, after one had entered the building and cleared security, one was given a mask that covered half of one’s face – and everyone’s mask was identical; meant to have people talk to each other more easily. For the most part, it worked, as far as Connor could judge – many seemed to enjoy the challenge to identify co-workers, or change their hair and clothing so that they were less likely to be recognized by their friends and colleagues.

Haytham, however, despite wearing the same mask as everyone else, clearly stood out. Connor had recognized him as soon as he entered the room. The Grand Master’s tall, broad-shouldered build had been the first clue, but his striking eyes and strong jawline had been even more unmistakable. Connor knew that he should be embarrassed by how well he knew the other’s features; how many hours he had stared at the older man’s picture.

For most of the time, Haytham was engaged in conversation with other people, and Connor only vaguely followed the older man’s movement through the large rooms decorated for the party. He was unsure if he should approach him – Haytham seemed to have his own idea who to talk to, and was moving about the room securely; a glass of wine and, occasionally, his phone in his hands.

Connor had ended up drinking much more than he usually did, or had planned on. His attention had been mostly focused on Haytham; aware that it might take a long time until he would get another chance to speak to the other but unsure how to make it happen. A voice in his head said that it would be good for the mission to speak to the CEO – but deep down, he knew he was curious and eager to talk to the other for entirely unprofessional reasons; reasons he shouldn’t really put into actions.

He had been relatively drunk by the time he got a chance. He saw Haytham excuse himself and slip away from the party – Connor followed at a safe distance. The older man entered a restroom down the hall and a bit further away than the nearest one, and Connor hesitated just a moment. If he had been sober, maybe he would not have followed the other further. But driven by the evening drawing to a close, and his first and only chance to run into the CEO – even if only briefly in the restroom – so incredibly close.

As he entered the restroom, he almost walked into the older man – his reactions perhaps slightly delayed by the alcohol, and his expectation certainly not that Haytham was waiting behind the door. Connor stared into the other bright eyes just inches away – though he could see the gentle glaze of alcohol in them, too. A shudder ran through him - being so close to the man he had researched for months felt unreal.

“You’re too predictable, boy.”, Haytham muttered, and at a moment’s notice, Connor found himself pressed against a tiled wall; the CEO standing close. “Why are you following me?”, Haytham asked, and his voice gave away that he was curious rather than hostile. It was unlikely that Connor had any ill-intent, though not impossible. He had passed through several security checks as every day, and it was rather impossible to bring weapons into the building, though, perhaps, Connor could have utilized something from the party to try and assassinate the most powerful man in the building… 

Connor did his best to search for the right words; raising his fingers and brushing them along Haytham’s vest. With his heart beating up in his throat, he leaned in a bit closer; his gaze dropping down to Haytham’s lips. He certainly had no intentions to attack the other, and he hoped his demeanour made that entirely clear. Was Haytham even interested in… men?

“Do you know who I am?”, Haytham asked quietly; a hand resting against the wall next to Connor; the other pressed against the young man's chest.

Connor glanced up to meet the other’s gaze; trying to look determined. “Doesn’t matter.”, he mumbled.

“Right.”, Haytham almost purred; relaxing his grip on the young man. It was a tone that made Connor’s stomach twist in odd effect. The CEO looked pleased, and continued, “Because we are anonymous tonight, are we not? Well, do not expect that this will influence your work here next week, boy.”

Connor nodded; a bit dizzy with the idea where this was heading. But his lips were capturing Haytham’s before he had even made up his mind if this was wise. Perhaps it was the alcohol driving him to such a bold action; perhaps it was the fact that he had jerked off to this man’s image in the past.

The older man’s hands brushed over his broad frame as their kiss deepened. Connor could tell that the other not only appreciated his form – no, he was trained enough to realize that Haytham was frisking him. But he understood the other’s caution – even drunk, at a party at his own company, Haytham was a Templar, and had to assure his safety. A random hook-up like this could very well be dangerous, no matter what. But Connor had no weapons, no wires, not even his phone, which was in a locker downstairs.

Their breathless kiss grew heated; biting and licking; despite both of them still wearing their masks. Only later Connor wondered if Haytham had done this before – if he had had affairs with employees before. That moment, he only felt desired and dangerously close to the enemy – it was exhilarating and intense; feelings certainly spurred on by the alcohol still making him less cautious, aware and impairing his judgement on how wise it really was to be hooking up with the most powerful Templar in the country.

The young man was blissfully dazed when Haytham broke their kiss – eager for more, and vaguely disappointed that the kiss seemed over. But then he realized that Haytham grabbed something from a small basket placed in front of the mirror. It was not usually there, and it took Connor a moment to realize what it contained – condoms, sachets of lube and packages of smaller sex toys one might expect from vending machines. “ _Stay safe and Happy Holidays_ ”, a note taped to the basket said, and Connor couldn’t help an amused snort.

Haytham played with the things he had taken from the basket and the skilled movements of his fingers were oddly mesmerizing to Connor.

“Really what you want, boy?”

A part of Connor was entirely clear about the fact that he should leave now. That Haytham was giving him a way out if he had any doubts or concerns about where this was going. There were no misunderstandings; no coaxing. There were no promises and no threats. An anonymous hook-up at a party – but of course, Connor knew better. He knew more than Haytham in this moment, even. He knew that they were enemies. He knew who he had kissed; he knew how utterly careless, dangerous and irrational it was.

But he stepped forwards anyways.

Haytham pulled him into one of the stalls, and locked the door. Perhaps they had been lucky that no one had entered during their kiss – then again, it had seemed as if Haytham had purposefully avoided the nearest restroom.

Maybe Connor wouldn't have stepped forwards if he had been sober. Maybe Haytham wouldn’t have started this if he had been sober. But neither of them were, and Connor let himself be willingly manhandled; thrilled and enticed by the notion of having the older man's attention in this way. Haytham pressed him against the stall door; lips and tongue trailing over his neck. Connor could feel the other’s hands working on his pants, and he gasped softly as the older man’s fingers brushed over the bulging front of his jeans.

“Give…” He cleared his throat; his voice wavering. “Give me the lube.”, he said breathlessly.

Haytham complied, and Connor turned around – presenting his back to the older man as he pushed down his pants and boxers. They were bridging between his legs, and he reached behind himself with slick fingers. Glancing back, he caught the older man’s gaze – wishing he could take the other’s mask off, but reminded of Haytham’s words about this being… anonymous. It was probably for the best.

Haytham seemed pleased by the young man’s initiative and proceeded to unbuckle his own belt; pulling down his impeccable, doubtlessly expensive, designer pants and boxers.

Connor bit his lips at the sight of the other’s cock – doing his best not to be an idiot and comment on the other’s impressive size, or the like. Instead, he spread the lube as carefully as he was able to in his intoxicated state; stretching himself as quickly and effectively as he could.

It was his first one-night-stand – because, of course, that was what this had to be. No matter how much this small part of him wished it were otherwise. He was a spy, basically; he was the enemy. If any of his Brothers and Sisters knew what he was doing… He shuddered. They would want him to kill Haytham, if given the chance. Not… spread his legs and prepare himself for the Grand Master’s cock with eagerness. And yet, part of him wished this could be more. It was foolish, at best – Haytham was one of the most powerful men in the country; what could he possibly see in him, out of all people? The CEO was rich, good-looking and clever; he could have anyone…

And right now, Connor couldn’t believe that the other wanted _him._ It was a drunken party hook-up, but nonetheless, he had caught the CEO’s attention, and it made his heart swell. He wasn’t usually interested in hook-ups like this – he wasn’t judging; it seemed like a good idea, being part of the Order or the Brotherhood and avoiding personal entanglements with outsiders. But he was very particular about being touched by people he did not know well. Perhaps because he felt like he did know Haytham, it was different.

“Ready?”

Connor was snapped out of his thoughts; his gaze still caught by the older man’s mesmerizing movements – rolling on the condom and spreading the remainder of the lube along his cock. The young man’s mouth felt dry, and he was pleasantly dizzy – a rush of intoxication and desire painting his cheeks in a faint pink. “Y-yes.”, he muttered breathlessly; pulling his fingers from himself and watching with dark eyes as Haytham stepped closer.

Haytham’s one hand came to rest on the younger man’s hip, while the other guided his cock. His movements were smooth and patient, and Connor wondered how drunk he truly was – if the Grand Master ever let himself fully go at these parties, or if he simply didn’t appear very drunk, even though he was.

Connor bit back a gasp when he could feel the other’s cock nudge his entrance; he faced forwards again and bowed his head; squeezing his eyes shut while his hands pressed against the cool plastic of the door. It had been a while since he had had sex being the bottom, and Haytham was certainly… _impressive._

“Relax.”, Haytham ordered quietly, and his voice dropped down into a wonderfully rich, velvety purr.

Connor couldn’t help the soft moan worming its way out of his throat, and a blush burned on his cheeks. He jerked when he could feel Haytham shift closer; slowly easing himself into the younger man’s body. The CEO’s breath waved hotly over Connor’s neck, and soon, his lips met with the other’s bronze skin; kissing and nipping gently.

The sensations helped Connor relax; shivering at the attentions he received; his hands pressed tightly against the door of the stall. He tried to ignore how terribly close he was - it was ridiculous, really; making him feel like a needy teenager who had never been touched before and was ready to come from the first kiss.

Suddenly, with a determined thrust, Haytham moved forwards and buried himself fully into the other’s body with a pleasured, low growl breathed out against the younger man's neck. Connor jerked; a strangled moan escaping him as he spilled over the door; the sudden stimulation too much to bear in his inebriated state.

A breathless chuckle left the Templar, and Connor bit his lips; embarrassed he had come so easily. He melted into the older man’s embrace; leaning back against Haytham a little more as a tremble ran through him, accompanying the pleasant bliss washing over him.

The older man allowed it, and slowly started to roll his hips; a greedy yet gently pace for now.

Connor was panting softly; vaguely exhausted by just having come and being further stimulated – but wholly enjoying being pliant in Haytham’s arms; enjoying the older man’s attention and closeness.

He moaned as the older man brushed past his sweet spot; having no doubts that Haytham could push him over the edge again before they parted ways tonight.

“Ah, _nh,_ yes… H-Hayth- _mnh-”_

A hand covered his mouth before he could breathe out the other’s name entirely.

Haytham’s breath waved hotly over his neck as the older man leaned in; his voice stern, though… not unpleasantly so. “You don’t know my name, boy. I don’t know yours. That’s how it works tonight, remember?”

Connor nodded; half-expecting the other to take away the hand from his mouth again, but Haytham didn’t. Strangely enough, the young man didn’t mind. If anyone entered the restroom… it would probably for the best if Haytham kept him quiet.

Haytham’s pace picked up, and Connor pressed his head back against the other’s shoulder; moaning shamelessly with only muffled sounds escaping from between Haytham’s fingers. The CEO himself was panting quietly; his fingers digging into Connor’s hips as he fucked him more roughly.

It felt wonderfully tight and full, and the young Assassin found himself hard and aroused all too soon again. He hoped to last until Haytham came, too, this time, and he did his best to hold back. The other simply felt amazing inside of him, and though he knew it was perhaps owed to the alcohol, he thought to himself that he had never felt this good before.

Connor tried to keep everything in mind – how the other felt, sounded like and touched him. There was a possibility that they would end up in a fight; that he would have to defend his life against Haytham, or even… He shuddered. Nothing to consider right in this moment. For now, and the near future, this was all he wanted to associate with thinking about Haytham Kenway.

Haytham’s thrusts grew more erratic, and his breath came heavier now, too; waving hotly over the young man’s neck. Connor enjoyed the feeling of the Templar slowly coming undone behind – and inside of – him; arching his back once more as he came; his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed against the older man and clenched up rightly around him.

A low growl escaped Haytham as he came; thrusting forwards and shuddering as he was pushed over the edge.

Panting and enjoying the pleasure rushing through them, they remained for a moment; leaning onto each other and allowing their galloping hearts to slow down together. Then Haytham pulled away and got rid of the condom. With shaky fingers, Connor reached down; pulling up his boxers and pants – still twitching and shuddering from the intense sensations. He glanced back at the older man; watching as Hatyham closed his pants, too, and adjusted the mask.

Just as they reached a moment of saying something, the restroom door was opened, and Connor jerked – glad this hadn’t happened a few moments earlier when he had been moaning out his pleasure so shamelessly.

A small grin played around Haytham’s lips, and he had probably similar thoughts. Now, instead of saying something out loud and potentially alerting the stranger to their presence, the CEO moved forwards; placing a kiss to the young man’s lips. Only when the door of another stall had closed, Haytham whispered, “See you next year, maybe.” His fingers brushed over Connor’s shoulder before he exited the stall and vanished.

But the next year, Haytham wasn’t at the party. Connor never met him alone again, until… Eighteen months after the Christmas party, Connor’s grandmother sent him an old diary of his deceased mother that had been found during renovation works in their house. It finally shed light on the identity of his father – and after testing, Connor found himself confronted with the reality that Haytham Kenway, CEO of Abstergo, was indeed his father. That, for months now, he had been in love with the one person who could never be his' - for more reasons now than ever.

Connor had contacted him. In a very long meeting, he had been honest about his affiliations, despite the protest of his Brothers and Sisters. Haytham's face had been stony; listening to Connor's words with no visible reaction. The following, long months of negotiations had led to a tentative truce. Connor had stopped working at Abstergo’s; promising not to use his knowledge of the tower and the company against them any further.

He had taken on his father’s last name after long consideration, and he was proud to be Connor Kenway, the Assassin.

They had never spoken about the Christmas party, but Connor had no doubt that Haytham remembered. He, surely, did. And no matter how much Connor had tried to shake that memory – he couldn’t.


	3. The Rejection

“For heaven's sake, _relax_ – it is not going to work if you are hunching like this. I am not going to break your neck, boy.”, Haytham scolded and Connor was snapped from the vortex of memories.

They were at the airport hotel; and Haytham was giving him an _innocent_ massage to make sure he would be ready for the day ahead. It was just the two of them – sat on the young man’s bed; father and son… a mission outside of their affiliations… And yet, all Connor could think about was how Haytham’s hands felt on him. How they had felt on him three years ago. How he had fantasized about having them wander over his skin again…

The young man shivered. He _had_ to get some distance between them. The other’s fingers on his bare skin – he was too reminded of that night – What if Haytham’s hands would brush down _further?_ What if he would wrap his arms around him; not unlike that night? His breath hot on Connor’s neck – his hands demanding and knowing –

_“Ahn-“_ Connor managed to bite back the sound almost completely. But maybe Haytham had still heard it. The next sound that would doubtlessly come would be even harder to muffle.

He stumbled to get up; trying to let an apology come over his lips. Connor realized too late that the towel around his waist had become loose and slipped to the floor as he stood up. Mortified, he met Haytham’s glance – naked; his arousal plainly visible.

Connor could feel a dark blush burn on his cheeks; shakily reaching down for the towel so he could cover himself up. But there was no point in hiding. Haytham had seen his reaction to the _fatherly_ touch.

“Haytham…”, Connor started before he had really thought it through; his heart racing. “Please…” He tried to gauge his father’s reaction, but it was - as so often - hard to tell what the older man was thinking. If anything, Haytham looked surprised and conflicted; he had not moved since Connor had escaped their closeness. “Let me relax… with you… more…”, Connor stuttered; taking a shaky step forwards; his heart hammering in his chest. It was a desperate leap. “Help me relax… for the night… Touch me more…” He was holding the towel in front of himself still, but part of himself wanted to just let it drop and be entirely clear about what he meant.

Haytham glanced up at him, and as their gazes met, the young man’s heart dropped.

“I should leave.” Haytham cleared his throat. His voice was quiet, and he slowly got up; his gaze averted again.

Connor mutely stepped out of his way; feeling humiliated and exposed by the clear rejection. Helplessly, he watched as his father approached the door.

“Raké:ni…!”, he mumbled with tears of shame stinging in his eyes as Haytham reached to open the door.

The older man stopped; his hand on the doorknob; not turning around. “I don’t know what you expect me to say, Connor.” The Grand Master’s voice was strained. “Expect me to do. Whatever you just proposed – you know as well as I do how _inappropriate_ it is, and as a favour to you, I will forget this ever happened. So should you.”

The rest of the evening was a blur in Connor’s memory. He got dressed and grabbed his duffel bag; leaving the hotel without a word. He knew it was selfish to abandon his father’s mission like this – but the sting of humiliation and rejection made it impossible to stay. It made it impossible to think; to breathe – to remain as if nothing had changed.

He found himself back at his grandmother’s village the next morning – with a bus and a rental car, he had made his way out there once more; collecting his car and his phone. For a few hours, he just sat in his car outside of the village; his hands clasping the steering wheel so tightly that he could see the white of his knuckles. He didn’t know what to feel or do – nothing had changed, really, and at the same time, everything had changed. He was a mess, and he knew it was his own fault. Haytham was right – what had he expected to happen?

There were a few treacherous tears – tears of disappointment, humiliation and self-loathing. He switched on his phone briefly – texting the Creed’s headquarters that he would be away for just a few days longer. There were no texts from Haytham – though, by now, he _had_ to have realized that the young man had bailed on the mission. Perhaps he deemed it too risky to text Connor, or maybe… he was too angry to reach out. With a deep sigh, Connor disassembled his phone lest he would be tracked – be it by his father or the Brotherhood.

When evening came, Connor was a long way from New York City.

He had decided that he needed to clear his head. And for that, he needed a place where no one would find him for a few days – a neutral place, where he could be by himself and figure out what to do. Maybe he just needed a few days to take a breath and let go of that strange feeling attached to his father. It wasn’t as if their relationship had changed – it wasn’t as if he had lost a close relationship with the other. Haytham had said he would forget about this incident – and perhaps Connor could, too, with just some time away. He would apologize for leaving the other’s mission; claim it had all been a misunderstanding, perhaps…

The place he had chosen to be his hideaway for a few days was the cabin of an old family friend, who never used it at this time of year and wouldn’t mind if Connor stayed unannounced. It was far out – a small, two-room-cabin in the woods way up north from New York. Connor knew that it was fairly well stocked, and he would make sure to let the family friend know how much of the supplies he had taken, and pay him for it. He had stopped at a grocery store during the day, and was fairly well equipped for a few days by himself. There was a small generator at the cabin, too, and while the forecast had no sign of snow just yet, it could get quite cold during these November nights.

He arrived only after midnight – the last part of the drive being slow and exhausting. There was no proper road for the last few miles, and the path was rocky and hard to anticipate as it wound up the slope of the mountain. Finally, the cabin came into the view of Connor’s headlights, and he sighed in relief. He had spent a few summers here with his mother – many, many years ago. He didn’t want to think about what she would say about his situation – without doubt, she would agree with Haytham and tell him to let go of those illicit feelings he had held close to his heart for such a long time.

Connor found the cabin’s keys in a familiar hidden place. He was exhausted and in need of rest – but first, he needed to start a fire for the night. He would deal with the generator in the morning, when he had better light and could check out the supplies. He hadn’t been here in over a year, but it had changed little.

That night, despite his exhaustion, he found only a few, restless hours of sleep. His mind was going over not only that evening in the hotel, but the weeks, months, and years since he had gotten to know who Haytham Kenway was. There were many voices in his head; some blaming himself for everything; some blaming Haytham for that one-night-stand, some blaming his mother for not telling him who his father was when she had still been alive. Surely, none of this would have happened if only he had known… But, as another small voice saw fit to say, he knew better now, and yet… He couldn’t shake that treacherous longing; that wish to get to know Haytham better in any way possible. From the beginning, there had been a physical attraction, surely, but… it wasn’t just that. Connor had never been interested like that in anyone else.

There were many things he thought about that night. He thought about Haytham’s gaze he found mesmerizing. The other’s voice – the way it could change from a growl to a purr; coaxing or cutting, whatever was needed. He did not mince his words – he was outspoken, sharp-tongued and far from shy. His strategy as Grand Master was clever. Ruthless, but never without goal or purpose. The longer Connor had studied the other’s projects and plans, the more he had learned to appreciate them – they weren’t all so different from what Connor envisioned, though executed very differently. It was one of the main reasons he had done his best to make the truce happen. Under Haytham’s leadership, he believed the Templars not to be the threat he had learned about in the history books.

He had gone out to dinner with his father a few times in the past one and a half years. One time, he had visited him in his apartment, too. But he never knew how to behave around Haytham – what to think or feel, really. It was easier to keep up a stubborn façade; claim he didn’t want to spend time with his father when in reality, he wished he could just stay close and learn more about him without being perceived as a threat or intruder. What did Haytham’s laughter sound like? What would make him laugh? What did he like to do for relaxation; for fun? Did he have… hobbies? A favourite place? A favourite dish? Did he like sweet things?

Silly things, Connor told himself. Wondering about all of these was foolish.

When morning came, he crawled out of the cot and started to set up the cabin for his stay.

The first days of his stay went more or less the way he had planned them to. He went hiking around the cabin, read in the books that were on the shelf, cleaned, and distracted himself further from his complicated life in the city.

As he was slowly starting to think about heading back, strange things started to happen. The first time he noticed something strange was on the evening of day five of his stay at the cabin. He had sat down on the porch of the cabin; wrapped in a blanket because it had gotten very cold. But he liked to watch the stars and listen to the forest before he went to bed.

That evening, he was daydreaming – thinking about coming here with Haytham; sitting right here, wrapped in a blanket, the older man’s arms around him; sharing warmth, sharing a tea, tender kisses…

The sound of a sharp cough let him jolt straight up in his chair. His heart was suddenly speeding, and he felt adrenaline rush through him. He was alone out here – or so he had thought. Was it a hiker? A Templar? An Assassin? Friend? Foe?

“Hello?”

His voice didn’t waver, but he was tense and ready for a fight as he slowly got up. It was quiet. A few birds sang in the distance, and the soft rushing of the forest was all he could hear.

He fetched the flashlight and searched. There were no footprints and no sign of anyone having been around the cabin but himself. When he went to bed that night, he decided it was time to leave. It was perhaps not good for him to be by himself – even though… he did not feel like he had truly closed that chapter between himself and Haytham as he had intended to with his stay out here. The older man was still intruding his daydreams in ways he really shouldn't.

In the morning, Connor made some coffee and started to pack his things. But as he glanced outside, heavy snow was falling. He watched as the thick flakes tumbled down; displeased because the forecast last week had not predicted any snow just yet. It was alright – he had enough supplies to stay longer; months, even. Which, of course, was not the plan – in the worst case, he could always assemble his phone and get someone’s attention. Reception was bad out here, but they might still be able to track him, and the occasional text might go out. Depending on the snow, he could drive a little for better reception, too.

He busied himself inside that day, but he was oddly distracted and tired as if he hadn’t slept much. His eyes kept falling shut, and he had strange half-dreams; sitting in an underground room…

Then, suddenly, coughing again – close-by; loud and clear.

Connor jolted awake. _What the fuck?_

Frantically, he searched around the cabin, but he could find no one and no traces of anyone having been here but him. As he looked around the small washing room, a clearly pained groan and subtle coughing from the other room could be heard. Hushed voices.

With his heart beating like crazy, Connor opened the screen door between the rooms and went back slowly – but there was no one in the main room.

Was he losing his mind? Was someone messing with him?

If only it wasn’t snowing like that… He grabbed a blanket and curled up on one of the more comfortable chairs in the main room; overseeing most of the room and parts of the washing room. Despite the uneasiness and concern, he fell asleep; tired as if he hadn’t slept in days.

_An underground room… light from a hole in the roof… People, lying and sitting in the large room… coughing, groaning, crying. Someone reaching out to him… The smell of death and sickness; urine and sweat…_

Connor retched. Opening his eyes wide, he found himself on the floor in the washing room.

How…? When…?

It was dark outside, and he felt dizzy. What was happening to him?

He crawled into bed. While he knew that he should leave, he felt too exhausted; dizzy and disoriented. He was not fit to drive a car in this state, much less through the rough, uneven and snowy terrain in the dark. Not for the first time, he wished his father was here - to help him through whatever this was.

His dreams were filled with vivid images – feeling like memories rather than dreams. Often, there was Haytham. Sometimes, he wore a navy blue coat and a tricorn hat; once, Connor saw him die in that very attire; helpless and feeling strangely guilty as he held his father’s hand. Sometimes in these dreams, Haytham wore clothes that looked more appropriate for a colder climate – but, those, too, seemed to come from a museum; old-fashioned and fallen out of time; a hood with fur, a parka with stitched decoration… Connor saw him undress; Connor dreamed about the other’s embrace in a warm, fire-lit cabin, not unlike the one he was in now… Then, he dreamed of winter somewhere; the North – endless snow, endless sky… A big moon over the tundra.

When he awoke, he felt like a lifetime had passed. Groaning, he got up – the cabin was dark and freezing cold. Either he had not slept for long and it was _still_ dark – or he had slept for a day, and it was dark _again._ The generator had stopped, and Connor was shaking in the cold of the night.

He felt dizzy and barely managed to light the fire – his whole body feeling strange and disconnected to him; he dropped the logs and the lighter many times before he got the fire started. He would deal with the generator once it was daylight again… He hoped the snow would ease up, but he could hear the howling of the wind; could get glimpses of the snow being cast across the dark sky.

With some effort, he dragged the sleeping cot closer to the fire; still shaking from the cold. He drank something; trying to make sense of this, but unable to follow through with any of his thoughts; always disrupted by strange, distant memories and images. There were so many strands of thoughts, feelings and memories in his head – it felt almost as if there were more than could be his’ alone. As if there were several minds coalescing, but none of them felt… disconnected to him. All were close to his heart; all were his’ but too many of himself at the same time. Connor felt nauseous. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; the world spinning around him.

_Connor, wait..._ It was Haytham's voice, echoing in the back of his head. But of course, he knew that the other had never called out to him. If he had, maybe Connor would have never left. And fervently he wished he was still at the airport hotel; receiving his father's attention in _any_ way, even if it was _just_ a massage.


	4. The Bear

Days went by. Connor’s condition worsened and it became difficult to tell those _visions_ apart from his surroundings in the cabin. He forgot to eat and drink; to light the fire again after it had gone out. The generator stopped worked at some point, and he had to rely on the fireplace alone to keep him warm. These days were a blur, and the snow was falling relentlessly. He could not say how much time had passed – sometimes, he awoke from what felt like a long slumber, but he could not say how long it had truly been. Sometimes, he awoke crying. Sometimes, the coughing and groaning around him didn’t stop – no matter if he was awake or not. His dreams were vivid and strange; filled with those visions of his father, visions of a silver bear, and memories that weren’t his’.

And then there was death – people Connor didn’t know; speaking a language he both didn’t understand, and, sometimes, he still knew what they were saying. Their desperate, pleading words broke his heart, over and over again. He wanted to help, and sometimes, he could – providing water, holding hands, and listening to their last words – but each death left another hole in his heart; no matter how much he tried to remind himself that it wasn’t real. They _were_ real. He knew it, deep down, and it hurt to watch them die; old and young alike.

One day that felt clearer than those before, Connor found himself lying on his cot near the low fire; feeling sweaty and dehydrated. Blinking away the exhaustion as much as he could, he got up and staggered to find something to drink. He was feeling like he was suffocating inside the cabin; knowing he wasn’t fit for a proper hike, but in need some fresh air. Of course, it would all be wintry, but a few steps in the snow couldn’t hurt – he just needed to leave the cabin for a bit. On shaky legs, he wrapped a blanket around himself and stepped outside – it was the first time since the snow had started falling that he ventured outside.

But there was no snow.

Connor stood in the doorframe of the cabin for long minutes; staring at the forest surrounding him. There was not a speck of snow – nowhere. It was cold, but not freezing. There were no signs that it had snowed in the past days – no signs of melting, no last patches in the ditches and northern shades where snow remained the longest.

The young man sat down on the steps of the porch; his heart galloping in his chest, and dizziness making it hard to process what he saw. How…? He well remembered the thick flakes twirling outside; the howling wind around the house… the drifts of snow; the white-out when he looked outside…

_Fuck. What the fuck -_ He really needed to leave. Something was happening to him – he needed help; help from his Brothers and Sisters, and maybe... his father.

Feeling somewhat clear-headed, he decided to assemble his phone. His hands were so shaky and uncoordinated that he had troubles inserting the SIM card, and he eventually gave up when it got too dark. He hoped he would be awake enough on the following day. Indeed, he succeeded the next day after he had rested up further and still felt lucid enough for the task.

With shock, he realized that the phone’s date was already well into December – had he been here for so long and not realized it? Was the phone’s date wrong because it had been off for so long? His heart throbbed. People would be worried. His Brothers and Sisters from the Creed would assume something had happened to him… Weeks without a word… He tried to take a deep breath; with his nerves getting the better of him, he could feel his grip on the now already slipping again.

There was, unsurprisingly, no cell phone coverage – but Connor texted some Assassin contacts regardless of that. Perhaps something would go through eventually… His heart leapt with the thought of his father, but he restrained from texting him, too. What was Haytham thinking? Was he worried? Or perhaps… relieved that this _problem_ had gone away? He needed to get back. To make sure his Brothers and Sisters wouldn’t launch hostilities against the Templars in suspicion of them having anything to do with Connor’s disappearance – especially if they found out that he had been with Haytham the evening before he had gone missing… He hoped his father wouldn’t be too angry with him for leaving without a word; disappearing for such a long time – putting him into such a delicate position for more than one reason…

As he packed his things, Connor believed to see snow from the window again, but when he stepped outside, there was none. It was already getting dark again – there were only few hours of daylight, and Connor knew that he had already wasted precious time on trying to get his phone working again. He felt clearer still – clearer than in a long while, and he was anxious to leave. Maybe it was this place – maybe he could shake these odd hallucinations once he had left it behind.

The car started after a few attempts, and to Connor’s relief, the path down the mountain wasn’t in too bad of a shape. It was a bit muddy, but not so much as that he was worried to get stuck. He was driving slowly – aware that he was not in his right mind and his motions delayed and not as coordinated as usual. The last thing he needed now was to have his car break down.

His head was spinning a little, but Connor managed. Darkness came, and he slowed down further – aware that it would take him many hours at this speed until he got to the next gas station or cabin. But potentially, he could get reception before then – surely, someone would come out to help him… Had he really been gone for weeks?

Soft coughing let Connor jerk – the car veering off slightly, but the young man just so managed to get it under control again. Taking a shaky breath, he shook his head. _No, no…_ He was by himself; those sounds weren’t real… He blinked; trying to shake off whatever was haunting him.

A bear appeared in the headlights. Its silver fur shone bright, and it stood proud and tall – its oddly bright eyes directed at the car.

_“Fuck!”_

On instinct, Connor yanked around the steering wheel. He could feel the harsh turn as the car veered out of control and shot off the road; diving into the forest. The deafening crash briefly knocking the air from his lungs and – everything went dark.

Connor blinked. What…? Where…? He tried to move but was held back. Shattered glass… a hissing noise… As he came to again, he vaguely understood what had happened. Groaning, he tried to move again – only after a moment realizing that it was just the seatbelt keeping him and that he seemed otherwise unharmed – but it could be the shock, and his head was hurting quite a lot. He fumbled with the seatbelt for a moment and managed to open it – yanking at the car door until it gave in and he half-fell out of the vehicle. The headlights were illuminating the tree he had crashed into, and strips of the forest behind it. Steam was hissing from the deformed engine hood, and Connor knew that his car would not drive him further.

He stumbled onto the path; his heart galloping. The dizziness and headache made it hard to think clearly. Had he managed to avoid hitting the bear? He could see the tyre tracks in the mud – the skid marks where he had veered off… But there were no paw prints. Gasping in disbelief, he stumbled around for a moment; squinting at the dimly illuminated path – maybe he had mistaken the distance – maybe… But deep down, he already knew that there had never been a bear.

His knees gave out from under him, and he just sat on the ground for a while; staring at his car and trying his best not to give in to the urge to cry, scream or both. It was late now, and cold. The frost was creeping into Connor’s bones, and he forced himself to get up after a short while. There were the distant sounds of a howling winter storm and people crying, but he did his best to focus on the wind rushing around him softly; anchoring him in the now rather than… wherever his mind was pulled off to constantly.

It was a long way back to the cabin. But it was the only reasonable choice – he was not equipped for walking for hours back to the nearest street in the hopes to stop a random car. The temperatures were dropping further, and Connor did not know the area well enough to estimate how long it would take to get anywhere – days, possibly, on foot, and he had not enough supplies, or the right kind of clothing to stay outside for a prolonged period of time.

He had searched his car for a torchlight but either it was still at the cabin, or he misremembered it ever being in there… With a heavy heart, he pulled out his phone to use as a torch. He had no way of charging it at the cabin – the generator was dead for a while now. But it had been on for a few days now, so maybe… someone had been able to track him, despite the lack of reception. A small, treacherous voice in his head said that even if someone had tracked it (weeks after he had gone missing) – this area was vast, and there were several cabins; not all even mapped – who knew if this was one they _could_ find and would search?

For some of the way, he was crying. He wasn’t even sure why – was it the exhaustion? The loneliness? The death he had witnessed in the past… weeks? The hopelessness that was slowly settling into his heart?

It was dark and a light, icy rain had started to fall. The mud started to slowly freeze, and Connor was glad he had his phone to use as a torch – it was difficult to see otherwise with the sky being overcast. He just kept walking. Voices were in the back of his head constantly, but they were far away enough so that he could pretend they didn’t affect him. His feet were numb from the cold, and he felt sleepy.

But he knew that if he gave in to that temptation to take a nap – he would freeze to death. So he stumbled further; following the road he had driven down not long ago. His phone almost made it to the end – only the last hour, he stumbled through the darkness; almost losing his path, but eventually making out the silhouette of the cabin against the faint illumination of the moon behind hurried clouds.

Connor lit a fire once he had entered the cabin. He was cold and exhausted; his head still hurting and his movements uncoordinated and clumsy. Forcing himself to drink something, he tried not to think about the devastating consequences of this day. It was December now, and the weather would only worsen. He had no car; no phone… if he was otherwise healthy, he could probably make it for a few months on the supplies he had, but with this… confusion – these hallucinations… it seemed hopeless.

As he crawled into bed, there were many thoughts swirling in his head. He thought about his father, and how foolish he had behaved – and yet, he slowly started to make peace with the knowledge that his feelings would never change. Even now, as hope to leave this place dwindled, Connor knew that his feelings were the same. Whatever was happening to him – this particular part of himself was the only thing he had grown surer of if anything.

The days were bleeding into each other.

Some were better than others. Occasionally, Connor felt more clear-headed and like himself; other days were still dominated by visions of snow, mountains, death and conversations with strangers. On the better days, he rationed his food and tried to keep track of time – scribbling notes to himself, to his father, and to friends; apologizing for leaving and saying how much he loved them. A part of himself had realized the possibility that he would never see them again.

But a more resilient part of himself started to put together an emergency supply – a backpack with water and food, the warmest clothing he had and some other supplies he had found around the cabin. Surely the owner would understand the situation, and if Connor repaid him, there were no hard feelings for taking what he needed to leave this place. The young man hoped that whatever was causing him to feel so confused would stop eventually – so that he could leave in a desperate attempt to make it out of this situation alive and get the help he needed. Right now, he was worried about having another episode of confusion or exhaustion when he was out there – out in the cold, in the unknown territory. If he left the main path, or fell asleep somewhere – he might never make it.

Then, after the weather had deteriorated further, two days passed in which Connor was feeling entirely like himself and fully awake, aware of the time and place he was in. For the unknown number of weeks he had now spent here at the cabin, it was the longest time he had been so clear-headed and lucid. He had eaten well and drank enough; something that had certainly been neglected in the past weeks and, possibly, months – he couldn’t be entirely sure how much time had past since he had arrived here.

Maybe it was time to try, he told himself. Maybe this was his only chance to leave.

He set out early the next morning. While he had taken the torch from the cabin, he had also made some emergency sources of light using vegetable oil, some Crisco, a strand of a cleaning mop as a wick. He had filled a few jars like that, and brought a lighter. It wasn’t enough to provide any warmth, butin case the torch went out, he still had means to follow the path in the dark - the days were short now, and he needed to make good progress when it was dark, too. In addition to that, Connor had also taken a few supplies to start a fire. Hopefully, he wouldn’t fall back into that strange vortex of confusion and dissociation – if he remained clear-headed like this, he should be able to make it. He just needed to stay warm and hydrated for a few days; hopefully not more than two or three.

The beginning of his hike took him down the path he had driven some time ago. He thought about the bear he had seen that day, and how much it had reminded him of his father – from the silver fur, the bright eyes, to his posture and expression. The path was fully frozen now, and it was still dark when he made his way down. There were only a few sounds in the forest, but Connor almost enjoyed the walk. It had been long since he felt so clear and hopeful – the fresh, cold air helping him to feel even more awake and lucid.

The sun came up slowly, and only a few clouds were rushing over the pale sky. There had only been some snow in the past days, and a few white patches were scattered around the forest floor. Connor stayed on the path – following his own tyre tracks and trying to think about what he would do once he got back. Somehow, he felt different now.

First… he sighed. First, he would take a long bath. He would go and see a hairdresser. He would order his favourite dish from the Thai takeout around the corner. He would… His heart clenched. He would try to contact his father. Even if Haytham did not return those… illicit feelings, he had not wanted Connor out of his life completely, of that the young man had grown sure. And he wanted Haytham in his life, too. He couldn’t forget what had happened between them, and he didn’t want to. But he had also realized that their relationship meant more to him – he wanted to spend time with the other, get to know him, even if they would never be entwined like they had been again. Maybe Haytham was willing to be his father; his friend.

Connor took a brief break around noon – aware that he couldn’t rest for long, since the sun was already sinking again. Daylight was precious, and he needed to make the most of it because the darkness would slow him down. He ate a bit and then continued his walk. Once he got back, and those visions did not stop - he knew he would have to ask for help. Whatever was happening to him... he couldn't get through it by himself.

Just before darkness fell, he came across his car. It looked just like he had left it, though some snow had fallen onto it, and of course, there lights were out and no steam was hissing from the hood. It looked abandoned and out of time; as if it had been here for a long while - who knew how long it had actually been. The young man briefly took off his backpack and climbed inside – searching for anything that he might want to take with him. He decided on taking a map and a bottle of water; a knife and a first aid kit.

That night, he spent just a few restless hours near a small fire; afraid to fully sleep lest he would either lose his clarity, or fall prey to the freezing cold. Before dawn, he packed his things and started his hike.

He had not gotten far when suddenly, something caught his attention. He lifted his gaze, and in a golden light, he saw his father.

Haytham was wearing the clothes Connor had seen him in before – indeed, it was an image from one of his dreams. The navy blue coat was stained with blood, and Haytham stumbled backwards; clutching his neck as blood poured from his lips. "In a way, I'm proud of you...", it echoed, though the words did not match the movement of his lips.

Connor yelped – staggering forwards and reaching out for the other – aware that this was not real, but still shaken to the core to see the other like that. This was no dream - the vision was clear and striking; painful and close. "Haytham!", he managed out as the image flickered.

A sharp pain shot through him as he moved. Looking down in the pale light of pre-dawn, Connor lifted his jacket; frowning in confusion. Blood was seeping through his shirt. The dark stain slowly spread, and Connor stumbled - _how...?_

Whimpering, he pulled up his blood-soaked shirt. A deep, gaping wound was spilling dark, sluggish blood, and the young man fought the nausea and dizziness rushing through him. He laughed - or maybe, he sobbed. What was even real? He allowed gravity to pull him into the soothing embrace of the forest floor; breathing in the calming scent of earth and moss.


	5. The Fever

Darkness danced before Connor’s eyes, and he blinked. Coldness was slowly creeping into him. He knew he needed to patch himself up – but what was real? Maybe the injury was like the bear, like the dying people and the snow – _just in his head…_

Despite the darkness looming soothingly all around him, he fought the urge to sleep. He breathed in the mossy air of the forest and tried to decide on whether or not the wound was real. If it was real – he had no idea how he had sustained it. He didn’t want to contemplate the notion that if this wound was real – perhaps those people had been real, too, in a way. Perhaps he could have helped them more _…_

Connor forced himself up. Pain shot through him, and he could feel the warm wetness of blood soaking through his clothes. Groaning in pain and confusion, the young man took off the backpack before he turned around; lying on his back on the wet forest floor and staring up into the sky while his fingers dug through the backpack. This was real, even if it made no sense. His breath was coming heavier now, and dizziness made it hard to think straight. If he would drift off again… he might not make it. With a whimper, he did his best to concentrate – he didn’t want to die like this. _No_ – he bit back another sob of hurt and despair. He didn’t want to die like this. Alone and confused; so many things left unsaid, everything unresolved and left in such disarray.

With shaky fingers, Connor continued to dig through his backpack; trying to make himself focus. He had taken a first aid kit from the car – it had to be somewhere… Only after long, panicked moments, his fingers closed around the package and he pulled it out with vague relief suffusing him. Of course, this wasn’t what he _really_ needed. He needed stitches; he needed to get to a hospital. But who knew how far the next one was away? For now, he had to patch himself up to be able to even make it to the next street. To get help.

While he had some decent first aid training – required in his line of job – it was difficult to concentrate on remembering everything now; with that odd confusion still distracting him, and the dizziness making it hard to focus. He propped himself up against the backpack; just enough to be able to see his stomach without having to sit up actively. At first, he tried to put on the gloves from the package – but his motions were to disjointed and clumsy, and eventually he just gave up.

Instead, he cleaned his hands of blood and dirt. Then, he cleaned the wound as best as he could with the bottle of saline enclosed in the first aid kit; hissing and groaning at the uncomfortable feeling, but also vaguely glad about the sting that helped him stay conscious. The wound was still bleeding sluggishly, and he knew that it would be best to wait until it had stopped bleeding. But he didn’t have the time. So he pressed a thick layer of gauze pads against the wound and taped it in place with the medical tape he had; doing his best he could in his current state of mind. He tried to keep some of everything – in case he had to redo the dressing because it bled through.

After a luxurious moment of pause, Connor forced himself to get up. If he stayed here – if he just let himself fall asleep – he knew he wouldn’t make it. It took him long moments to get on his knees, and, eventually, on his feet. With great effort, he picked up the backpack; pressing the gauze against the wound in an attempt to keep it in place and apply pressure on the wound while he did so. He wished his phone had battery still. At least he could look through his saved pictures - see his mother one last time; see Haytham on one of the pictures he had saved _…_ Perhaps it would help against this cold, dark loneliness that was suffusing him.

He started walking.

The hours stretched on and on; darkness came, and Connor stumbled forwards - it seemed easier than to pause and set up camp. If he stopped now, would he ever be able to get up again? The darkness was impenetrable; like fog, it was materializing all around him, and he was struggling to keep on the path. Was he even still on that path? There was the howling of wolves - or the barking of dogs, perhaps.

Connor tried to blink away the heavy darkness – was he walking still? Stumbling through the forest? He wasn’t sure. No – he was lying down now; perhaps, once more, he had fallen. He could feel wetness against his stomach; again, blood had soaked through his clothes. There were stars up in the sky, and he only vaguely wondered where all the trees had gone. The air was cold and crisp, but not unpleasantly so. He felt cold and hot at the same time; an internal cold rather than the cold around him, and his bones were on fire. He could tell that he was moving – he didn’t know how or why; and only slowly did his ears attune to the sounds of the sled and the dogs – paws on frozen ground; growls and barks echoing over the tundra.

But Connor just stared up in the sky; unable to move, numbness and thirst keeping him from saying anything; from crying or begging to stay alive. Maybe this was a dream, or maybe this was just a continuation of his journey through the forest. He felt alone, and yet, the sky seemed good company. The dogs were not focused on him; they were running for their lives, he could tell. They had forgotten about him, and he was still and quiet, just a weight on the sled.

As an Assassin, he had thought about dying before. In his mind, it had never been like this. Never before had he felt this lonely and this helpless – but there was also peace and calmness; an acceptance that there was nothing more he could do but stare up into the sky and await the end with the least panic he could manage. He wanted to cry a little, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t necessarily tears of sadness or despair – rather, of exhaustion and regret. He regretted how things had ended with his father – he wished he would have had another chance to explain; to apologize. He shouldn’t have done what he had done… and yet, part of him was relieved that he had been honest. At least Haytham had known about the young man’s feelings, even if he had chosen to reject them.

_Voices…_ Connor groaned quietly. Voices? He blinked; trying to make out where he was. It was light – was it early or late? He couldn’t tell. Moving his head just a little, he could see trees – no. It wasn’t trees. It was a wall of trees – a palisade of sorts. There were men close by; gesturing, some at him. But none was close enough for Connor to understand their words. Clearly, however, they were disagreeing.

The young man wanted to call out – plead for their help. _Please,_ he needed help, he had been stabbed, somehow…

But his throat was too dry; his mouth filled with sand, it felt like. Gasping and wheezing quietly, Connor tried to reach out – to make them look at him. Couldn’t they see the blood? He felt so hot now; shivering because of the warmth… He closed his eyes again; too exhausted to fight for their attention.

A cool cloth was draped over his forehead, and Connor awoke with a start.

“Shh.”, a familiar voice soothed; fingers brushing along the young man’s cheek.

Connor squinted – it was dark, but a flickering light nearby illuminated the features of – _his father._ Or… was it? He tried to concentrate. It _was_ Haytham, though… his face was half-hidden by the thick fur lining of the hood of his garment; and Connor believed to see scars that had not been present in Haytham’s face before – and Connor knew those features all too well.

Furrowing his brows, he stared up at the other; his dark eyes full of confusion and yearning. Was he imagining things again? His father’s frame was illuminated dimly against the dark night sky – but there were no stars now; perhaps it was cloudy, Connor couldn’t tell. There was just void around Haytham, as if they were not tied to time and place, but met again in a spot away from the world; just a last stop on Connor’s journey towards death.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he only wheezed quietly.

“Here, drink.”, the other said quietly, and, doubtlessly, it was Haytham’s voice.

A strange sort of pouch was brought to his lips, and the water tasted different than anything Connor had had before. But it didn’t matter – he was so incredibly thirsty; for the first gulps he didn’t taste anything anyways. Greedily, he drank as much as he could. He still couldn’t move – exhaustion filling his bones heavily, and fever making it hard to tell his body to move the way he wished it to.

Connor had stopped wondering what of this was real and what wasn’t – it didn’t matter. He was just… so _happy_ to see his father again. Staring up at Haytham, he tried to smile.

“I’m sorry…”, he managed out with the last bit of speech he could muster.

“Shh.”, Haytham repeated; leaning over the young man and seeking his gaze. The other’s bright eyes were warm and piercing, and Connor’s heart missed a beat at the sight. Haytham brushed hair out of the young man's face and added in a soothing tone, “I’m sorry, too. Just get better, and it all will be alright, boy. I'll be right here when you are better, okay?”

Connor did his best to nod. There was nothing more he wanted.

There were flickers of voices; flickers of images – the sound of tree in the wind, mixed with the sounds of barking dogs and a howling storm. Brief glances of firelight and a sunset; the night sky and then, the inside of a… building? There were low sounds; voices in that language he had heard before – Gasping, he felt cold realization rushing through him. He was _back._ He was back in that place of death – but – where was Haytham? No; he didn’t want to be here – he tried to move. “Nh… f-father?”

Connor coughed softly; thirsty again – or _still,_ perhaps; trying to disentangle himself from the blanket he was covered with.

There was rustling; a movement and an unfamiliar face; a hand holding him down.

“He’s awake!”, someone called out, and there was more rustling. Then, towards him, the man said, “Stay still. It’s okay, Qimugtaq, you’re back.”

A moment later, Haytham’s face appeared above him; his greying hair long as Connor could see now; tied together with a red ribbon. The other’s expression was oddly intense, and the young man wondered why. The older man leaned over him; brushing hair out of Connor’s face once more; a gentle, caring little thing to do. “Are you thirsty?”, he asked.

Nodding, Connor licked his lips; eager for more water. His head was hurting, but he felt more awake than in a long time. How long had it really been? His stomach still hurt, but… more distantly now. How much time had passed?

He drank greedily, and shifted once Haytham had put aside the pouch. He tried to look around; realizing that it was true and he was back in that place he had glimpsed before. Why was Haytham here with him now?

“Father – where… where are we?”, he asked, looking at the unfamiliar man and then back to his father.

The man he didn’t know just shook his head slightly, and him and Haytham exchanged a glance before the stranger left.

“Raké:ni…?”, Connor muttered with a hint of despair; staring up at Haytham in the hopes of an answer.

“You know?”, Haytham asked; his bright eyes fixed upon him.

“Know what?”, Connor asked quietly.

The older man briefly averted his gaze, then locked eyes with Connor. “That I am your father.”, Haytham said quietly.

With confusion, Connor tried to sit up, but Haytham kept him from moving by placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Of course I know…”, Connor began. “I mean – I didn’t always. You know this. When… when we met, and when we slept with each other – I didn’t know then.” There was no embarrassment in his words; no regret. He was too exhausted for any of that – too tired and hollowed out by confusion and disorientation. He got this chance to speak to his father, so he would use it to voice the things he had regretted not saying that day at the hotel – whether or not this was really the father he knew, he couldn’t be sure. “And I told you. I explained it to you.”

Haytham nodded slowly; his bright eyes wide – clearly remembering… something.

“You know, I’ve always looked up to you.”, Connor muttered; unable to keep tears from dripping from his lashes. He had wanted to cry before, but now that he could, he tried to hold back. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. Admiring you from afar – thinking about you all the time. I wasn’t sure… how much of that was… just fantasy; just a dream. But when we met, I knew it was all… I wanted to be with you. But with everything… everyone around us; the missions and the pressure, I also knew that I couldn’t… just… I knew you might not want it anymore, because we are…” He bit back a sob; determined not to cry. “I’m s-sorry I ran away.” His breath hitched treacherously, but he managed not to allow more tears to fall from his eyes.

“I did not mean to push you away this harshly.”, Haytham said quietly after a moment of silence.

Connor stared up at him; dark eyes still glistening with unshed tears, and filled with a desperate, treacherous hope. “Do you really regret it?”

Haytham clenched his jaw; despite Connor’s unrelated question, he seemed to know precisely what the young man was talking about. He didn’t answer.

“It doesn’t change how I feel.”, Connor added hoarsely; his voice rough with emotion. “It never did, never will.”

“Rest up now. We will speak more when you have recovered.”, was all the older man said, but his expression betrayed his calm words. For once, Haytham's stoic demeanour had cracked, and Connor was certain to see a hint of surprise - a hint of yearning. It was this hint he latched onto; it was enough to keep this lingering hope alive. The hope that, perhaps, Haytham still thought of that night, too, fondly so.

“Are you gonna stay here?” Connor's voice was quiet; staring up at his father with the unveiled wish for Haytham to remain by his side.

The older man nodded. “I'll be here, watching over you.” As if to underline this promise, Haytham took one of Connor's hands and enveloped it in both of his own; squeezing gently to reassure his son that he was not going anywhere.

Letting out a shaky breath, Connor closed his eyes. Maybe this wasn't death after all. Maybe this was healing of sorts - a spiritual experience that had allowed him to voice the truth - giving him the strength and peace to carry on. Whatever was going on - now that he was by his father's side again, he didn't feel like it mattered where he was, and how he had gotten there. As long as he could hold onto the other, things would be alright.


	6. The Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone - I hope you are all doing well in these crazy times. I finished one of my more intense courses at grad school, and finally found the time to write out the rest of this story. Knowing me, you are probably not surprised to see that 1 chapter has somehow evolved into 3... To keep it fair, I am posting them all today as one last block of the story. Well, I hope you enjoy them!
> 
> Find me on my tumblr https://ante-canis.tumblr.com to request stuff or send me a message.
> 
> Thanks for each and every kudos and comment, I really, really appreciate it. ❤️

Strange dreams swirled around Connor for a long, long time – how long, he couldn’t say. Blurry images and distant sounds; fluid feelings and brief sensations. He saw himself sitting next to him; he saw himself in a reflective pool of water, but it wasn’t him, with the fur-lined parka, hollow cheeks and long, braided hair.

When he awoke again, he was not in the house of the sick and dying – or, in a way he was, but differently so. He found himself in a hospital; white walls, muffled voices and distant footsteps greeting him as he blinked awake. There was only dim light, and while the curtains were drawn, Connor could guess that it was late in the evening or night. Looking around, Connor tried to figure out if this was real – and not a dream or hallucination again. He recognized the flanged cross on the hospital emblem – an Abstergo facility, doubtlessly. But if he was here -?

Finally, his gaze travelled to his side, where he found Haytham sleeping. The CEO sat in a visitor chair; legs propped up on another chair, and a hospital blanket thrown over him. Arms crossed above his chest, he looked stern as he rested. Connor could feel tears welling up; treacherous tears of relief and exhaustion. How he had wished for this – to find his way back; to see his father again – to survive those crazy days out in the middle of nowhere. It seemed like a dream now – the days spent half-awake and half-elsewhere; crashing his car and finding himself injured for no apparent reason. But it had to have happened, right?

His fingers gently pressed against his side where the wound had been, and he jolted at the unpleasant sensation that spiked through him. Yes – it had happened. How he had gotten here, he couldn’t remember, and he hoped with all his heart that it wasn’t a dream or vision; but that he was actually here, with his father by his side.

Connor allowed himself for a moment longer to take in the other's sight – Haytham looked tired; dark shadows underneath his eyes hinting at a lack of sleep, and the young man couldn’t help but wonder if this was because of him – how long had he been here? How long had Haytham stayed by his side? The Grand Master’s button-up shirt was slightly opened for comfort, and his greying hair messy – as if he had been here instead of going home. Connor had fantasized about seeing the other again for so many days and weeks that it was difficult to keep himself composed now. He just wanted to reach out; to curl up by the other’s side and feel his father’s warmth; to hear the other’s voice and know that it was all real; that he had found his way out of those woods – out of those visions of death and snow. He wanted to believe that this meant hope – that his father hadn’t stopped caring after the catastrophe at the hotel, and Connor’s disappearance.

“I’m so sorry…”, Connor said, before he had even decided to speak out – the words had been on his lips for such a long time that they seemed to have taken on decisions on their own; slipping so easily from his tongue.

Haytham stirred; his bright eyes flickering open and finding Connor’s yearning gaze resting on him. The CEO slowly moved as he realized that Connor was awake; swinging his legs down from the chair and pushing aside the blanket as he moved closer; blinking off the remnants of sleepiness.

“I’m sorry.”, Connor repeated; his gaze still locked with his father’s. Seeing Haytham again meant more than he could have hoped – after so many months and the uneasy note they had ended on. Seeing him in those visions had mostly been soothing – aside from the jarring image of Haytham dying – but it wasn’t the same than actually having the other by his side; knowing that Haytham cared, somehow; watching over him.

Shaking his head as if to dismiss the apology, Haytham leaned onto the bed; looking at him with a sort of scrutiny. “Can you tell me where we are, and when we spoke last?”

It was an odd question, but perhaps a means to see if he was confused – had he spoken in his sleep maybe? Uttered nonsensical things? With some hesitation, the young man wondered if he should mention those odd visions he had had of his father – but, clearly, that hadn’t truly been Haytham, or… at least that was what he told himself; no matter how real it had felt. Clearing his throat, he gathered his thoughts and then replied, “I’m at one of your facilities. A-and the last time we spoke… was at the hotel.” Uneasiness suffused him at that distant memory – rather than embarrassment, he felt regret. He had messed up everything that day. One day, one decision, and it had spiralled into so much chaos and misery. He could have had it all – his father’s gratitude for helping him on his mission; their friendship, perhaps, or at least respect, but instead…

Haytham nodded slowly; his expression musing as if he hadn’t quite expected this answer.

“I-is that not correct?”, Connor asked quietly; glancing around and finding a glass of water next to the bed. Shakily, he reached out and drank.

“It is, and it isn’t.”, Haytham muttered; hands folded as he gazed at his son. “Connor – where were you? What happened?”

“How did I get here?”

Sighing, Haytham straightened. “You were found by a couple of hikers near the interstate. At first, they thought you were dead. Took the ambulance almost an hour to get there. Lucky for you, the paramedics called in that someone matching your description had been found, and by the time you were getting first aid, I had already been informed and could confirm your identity as soon as I got a picture. I arranged for your transfer here right away.”

After a moment of silence, Haytham spoke again, “You didn’t answer my question. What the hell happened?”

“What did you mean it is correct, and it isn’t?”

“Connor, please.” Haytham’s patience seemed thin, and there was an odd urgency to his tone.

Swallowing, the young man paused. His father would think he was crazy – and maybe he was. He had wished for the other’s help, and in order to have Haytham help him, he needed to tell him the truth. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Tell me what happened after you left the hotel.”

The young man nodded; too exhausted to further irritate the Templar. “I… I went to get my car. I just…” He tried to collect his thoughts. It all seemed so terribly distant now. “I needed time. To clear my head. A family friend… A friend of my mother’s, he has a cabin out North, and that’s where I went. I planned to… just stay a few days…” He fell silent; unsure how to proceed with his story.

“You were gone for _two months,_ Connor, not a few days.”, Haytham remarked sternly.

Connor flinched. He had known that he had been gone for over a month, but hearing it from his father like that… “Th-that wasn’t the plan.”, he brought out; choked up with the reality of the past weeks.

“What happened?”

“D-did my disappearance cause trouble?”

Haytham sighed; clearly irritated that Connor was still so evasive about what happened. _“Yes,_ Connor. It caused trouble. Your Brotherhood didn’t take long to find out that I was the last to see you alive – having coaxed you into a hotel, and in secret, no less. They were _very_ vocal about me having kidnapped or killed you, or both. It took a lot of manoeuvring to convince them I had nothing to do with your disappearance. We dug up some CCTV of you leaving the city – by yourself. Which, of course, we were accused of having manipulated, and it took weeks for your people to confirm that it was real. Two of my men were killed in a fight with a group of Assassins just two weeks ago – it hasn’t been easy to prevent the truce from falling apart.”

Nodding, Connor clasped the blanket; staring down at his fingers and the IV lines. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant to happen.”

“What exactly _was_ meant to happen, Connor? You disappeared. You disabled your phone. You were gone for _months_ without a sign – last seen with me on a secret mission I instigated. What did you think they were going to assume?”

Clenching his jaw, the young man tried hard not to get angry and defensive – or, worse, cry. His father’s frustration was understandable, and so far, Connor had not given him a reason to forgive him for the trouble. But, at the same time, Connor wondered if the other had been worried; treacherously – selfishly – hoping that his father’s irritation was a temporary, understandable reaction to what he had put Haytham through…

Taking a deep breath, Connor banished those all too hopeful thoughts from his mind and looked up. “I’ll tell you what happened, but – you _have_ to believe me.”

It took him a long while to recount the events of the past weeks – every now and then pausing to drink, as well as try and order his thoughts and make sense of the chaotic, hallucinatory memories that were like a scattered puzzle. Haytham remained silent, though Connor could tell that it took him some self-restraint not to interject sometimes. He couldn’t tell if his father believed him or not, and once he had finished his story – ending with a short account of seeing Haytham in that strange building – he fell silent in worried anticipation of the other’s response.

“I have a theory about what happened to you.”, Haytham said after a long moment of silence.

Connor glanced up and stared at him – surprised and hopeful at the same time. He wished that there was a reason – an explanation; anything at all that would make sense of the traumatic glimpses and unexplainable happenings. An explanation that would go beyond that he was losing his mind; that the loneliness and isolation out there had caused him to break down and lose sense of reality.

Straightening as if it enabled him to speak more clearly, Haytham stared down at his hands. “You have been awake before.” He waved for Connor not to interrupt him. “But it wasn’t you. That is why I asked you when we spoke last. Or, well, even that is not exactly correct. It _was_ you. You – _he_ – recognized me, though was surprised to hear that I was his – your – father. He told me about a fight that the two of us had, and how he ran away; helping a friend in need.” He paused briefly. “His tale took place in the North, and in a time removed from now; somewhere in the past, the 19th or 18th century, judging by the amount of contact between Native and non-Native people.” Once more, he gestured for Connor to let him finish as the young man attempted to interrupt. “His friend’s sister’s village had a measles outbreak, and he stayed to help. He realized that he had accidentally stolen something from me - the past, other, me that he knew and had a fight with – a pendant with strange properties; an object that would occasionally glow. It was then that he started to see strange things, and people started talking about him having some… _abilities_. After a long while at the village, he got into a fight with someone who thought he was their rival in the succession of the village’s dying shaman. That’s how he got stabbed, and found himself here.”

Connor stared at him; his hands clasping the blanket so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He felt a bit dizzy; unsure what to think of this – he had told Haytham this? It linked with the glimpses of what he had seen – the house of the dying; the crying, the coughing, the landscape in the snow, the other Haytham, his injury… So - it had been _real?_

The Grand Master glanced up at him. “The pendant – it _must_ have been a Piece of Eden; some sort of artefact that connected him to you. Perhaps accidentally; perhaps to save him. You are vaccinated against measles. I double-checked this after we spoke, but your mother vaccinated you when you were a child. He - the _you_ I spoke to - was, with certainty, not vaccinated so far back in time. And, well, judging by his account, there was a very high mortality amongst the Native community - without that vaccination, you - he - would've caught it for sure, too.” Haytham fell silent for a moment, then he concluded, “I do not know how this can be – both of us, at a different time, different place – but with your experiences and my conversation with this other… you, it _must_ be the explanation.”

“I-is it over now, then?”, Connor asked; both shaken by the explanation and somewhat eager to believe that there was indeed a reason why all this had happened to him. That it had helped, somehow, a former… self. Thinking about all the implications of how this could be, and what it meant for the Pieces of Eden, Connor did not want to start with right now - it was dizzying enough to think that he truly had seen a different world in those upsetting glimpses of death and loneliness.

Shaking his head, Haytham shrugged. “Hard to say. It could be that the purpose of the connection was to keep him alive – to protect him. Then it might be over – but if he keeps the pendant, it might happen again. I think it might be best if you stay with me for a few weeks after you are released. Your other… self knew me; trusted me. I now know what’s going on, and can make sure you are safe if this happens again. It might also give you time to smooth things over with your Brothers and Sisters. They know you have been found, and keep accusing me of trying to brainwash you, or having held you captive this whole time. I would much appreciate it if you could communicate to them that I have had no hand in your disappearance. Though I admit, they may doubt any information coming from you while you are still under my supervision.”

Nodding, Connor didn’t know what to say – he felt exhausted and guilty; the theory about his visions still swirling around in his head. “C-can you do me a favour?”, he asked after a moment; his voice small and forlorn.

The Grand Master caught his gaze, and seemed taken aback by the expression he found in Connor’s eyes. “What is it?”, he asked.

Hesitantly, Connor reached out for his father’s folded hands. “Can you p-please – hold me – just – for a moment – so I know it’s real?”, the young man stammered.

Briefly, Haytham hesitated – or perhaps he needed a moment to understand the request. But then he shifted onto the bed, and with a heart-breaking gentleness, he pulled his son into his arms.

Connor couldn’t remember a time Haytham had hugged him before – and he was sure he would remember if it had happened before all this. He allowed himself to melt into those strong arms; and ease that dark, cold loneliness and despair that had weighed on him so heavily for so many weeks now. Before he really knew it, he realized that he was crying – only vaguely ashamed to behave like a child, but too relieved and overwhelmed to care enough to try and stop. Instead, he held onto his father tightly and buried his face into the other’s shirt. He had been so alone – confused and helpless. He had thought he would die out there; all by himself, never seeing his loved ones again; never finding his way back.


	7. The Admission

Connor stayed at the hospital for eight more days. It was a turbulent and strange week – while the visions did not return, he had to figure out how to handle the aftershocks of his disappearance; ranging from trying to convince his Brothers and Sisters at the Creed that he had not been kidnapped, brainwashed or else by the Grand Master in whose custody he was now; to dealing with bureaucratic details regarding his car and contacting the owner of the cabin.

While Haytham ceased to stay over night at the hospital, he visited every day, despite the facility being far out from his route to and from work (as it was upstate and not in the city). Connor caught himself counting the hours until his father would return each day; and while he told himself that it was ridiculous, he enjoyed these daily meetings tremendously. It was the first prolonged time they actually spent with each other outside of work – and it was a somewhat strange way to get to know Haytham better. The other would sometimes work while Connor was resting, but the young man didn’t mind. Just having his father by his side calmed him, no matter how foolish that thought felt in his head. He tried his best to keep his heart tamed – but after the events out in the woods, he had made peace with the knowledge that his affection and attraction towards Haytham would not diminish anytime soon. They had not spoken about what had happened at the airport hotel, and the young Assassin was hesitant to bring it up; somewhat expecting Haytham to have the same reaction and just leave again. In a way, he was honouring his father’s wish to ‘forget’ it happened – if forgetting meant biting his tongue almost every time they saw each other in order not to blurt out that he still wanted him; that he still loved him; that nothing had changed.

But while the visions had not returned, Connor was plagued by nightmares. He woke up every night with indiscernible feelings of guilt and concern – twice, he was so upset that he had called Haytham when the other wasn’t around because he had had the unwavering knowledge that something wasn’t right with his father. Both times, Haytham had been vaguely grumpy about being woken up in the middle of the night, but assured him that everything was alright.

The Grand Master had offered that Connor could stay at his apartment for some time after he was released from the hospital – to see if the visions returned, and if so, he was probably the best equipped to figure out if there was anything they could do about it. All too willingly, Connor had agreed – unsure if this eagerness to temporarily move in with Haytham was owed to this distinct feeling of concern over the other’s wellbeing, or his own treacherous feelings for the older man.

Haytham had generously refurbished a room in his apartment to act as a guest bedroom; what it had been before, Connor did not know. The apartment was located in downtown Manhattan, and looked North – on clear days allowing a view over Central Park in the distance. It was spacious but seemed… impersonal. There were no photographs around; no personal belongings that identified Haytham as the owner. A few books were the most personal thing that Connor spotted amongst the tastefully decorated living room. It was both strange and exhilarating to wander through Haytham's space - from finding out what he had ready in the fridge (Connor was most smitten by some instant cookie-dough that seemed so unlike Haytham that it made him smile) to discreetly rummaging through the other's closet (and just perhaps pressing his face in the immaculate suits that fainly smelled like Haytham).

The CEO’s study was locked during the day, and Connor understood why. While Haytham was at work, Connor was free to do what he wanted, and Haytham had provided him with a laptop to do work if he wanted, or keep connected to his friends. A few times, Connor allowed himself to lie down on his father’s bed; wrap his arms around a pillow and breathe in the other’s pleasant scent while he took a brief, peaceful nap.

He expected to sleep better, now that he shared the apartment with his father. But the first three nights found him restless again; standing in Haytham’s vast kitchen and staring out the window and over the bright lights of New York City as he tried to clear his head. It was a sort of restlessness that alarmingly felt like the confusion he had experienced at the cabin, and it took a lot of restraint not to knock on Haytham’s bedroom door and curl up next to the older man to try and find some sleep. But no visions came, and no harm befell the older man, despite Connor's urgent feelings of there being something amiss. The Grand Master noticed Connor’s pitiful, insomniac demeanour in the mornings before he went off to work; perhaps even having heard the young man pace around the apartment at night. With some hesitation, Connor asked one evening to sleep in Haytham’s room – just for one night; just to try it out.

If Haytham had any doubts about that – owed to the incident that had led to Connor’s desperate flight from the hotel – he did not voice them and reluctantly agreed to let the young man sleep in his room – _one night;_ just to see if it helped.

That evening, Connor was nervous. He didn’t quite want to think about why that was – it wasn’t as if he was sleeping right next to his father, under the same blanket, bodies touching… No, he had his own blanket, and Haytham’s bed was large enough so that they would not have to feel each other’s warmth; breath waving over skin…

Connor took his time brushing his teeth and putting up his hair; staring at his mirror image and wondering if his past, or alternate, self was faring any better. How did his other self feel about their father? Would he be surprised, disgusted, sympathetic or understanding if he learned about Connor’s attraction that he could not seem to shake? The dark circles under his eyes prominently evidenced his state of mind, and he shook his head at his anxious thoughts. Instead of fretting further, he tried to remind himself how grateful and relieved he was to even be here – when he had been out there; alone and lost, he had wished for nothing more than to return and have another chance to get to know his father, even if it was a familial relationship and nothing more. Of course, him staying here at his father's place was just a temporary thing; a precaution after the mess of the past months. And yet, he wished it was more; foolishly, he caught himself thinking about a future where he shared this space with the other permanently - even if just as Haytham's son and nothing else.

He approached Haytham’s bedroom with weak knees; knowing there was nothing to be nervous about; Haytham was humouring him out of kindness; trying to help him sleep through the night. He opened the door; his heart beating up in his throat.

But this wasn’t Haytham’s bedroom.

Connor froze as he recognized the house of the dying; a sight he had not been able to forget. The air was stuffy, and while the stench of urine, blood and sweat was not as repugnant as last time he had found himself here, it still repelled him. Maybe he would have fled outside, if his eyes had not come across a familiar silhouette. Still standing by the door, he let his eyes get accustomed to the dim light; his heart clenching painfully. But, without a doubt, it was Haytham – resting against the side of the building; thin and pale, with a cloth draped across his eyes. For a brief moment, Connor thought he was dead. Was this why he had felt this concern? This guilt? What had happened to his father, in this other world? He noticed how the other moved slightly, and a breath of relief left the young man. He wasn't dead - but - he could tell that there was something profoundly wrong; his mind spinning. Had Haytham become sick? Was he dying? He wanted to move closer, but the world was already spinning around him again, and before he could utter a single thing or take just one step, he found himself –

\- in Haytham’s lap.

His arms were wrapped around his father’s broad frame, and his head rested against the other’s neck when Connor came to. For a split second, he hazily enjoyed the other’s vaguely familiar scent; his warmth and the way his father’s breath waved hotly over his own skin…

Startling fully awake, he shifted backwards; almost falling over in his haste as he realized that he was back – that this was really happening; not a vision, not a dream or fantasy. His heart shot up into his throat; crawling backwards in an attempt to undo the intimacy he had found himself in. After all, Haytham had made clear that he did not wish to pursue what had happened at the Christmas party, and the fact that they had never spoken about the events at the hotel had further underlined that.

 _“F-”_ Connor gasped; realizing that he was visibly aroused – his boxers certainly doing nothing to hide that fact, now that he had pulled away – though he had no memory how it had come to this. Still, it was causing him to have an intense flashback to the mortifying moment at the hotel; sure that his father had seen the reaction he had to their closeness. Tears of embarrassment and helplessness were burning in his eyes. Things had gone so well – they had really started to get to know each other; Haytham had perhaps been able to forget about Connor’s shameful desires –

“I-I swear – it wasn’t me –”, he stuttered with his heart in his throat making it difficult to speak – or breathe properly, for that matter. “I d-didn’t – _I –!”_

With his mind going blank in shame and confusion, he struggled up from Haytham’s bed; trying to get space between them – to be able to breathe again; leave and –

“Connor, wait.”

The young man stopped; his shaking hand half-extended and reaching for the door with his back turned towards his father. It wasn’t the other’s request he followed, but the way Haytham’s words resonated within him made him freeze – as if he had heard them before. And hadn’t he? He remembered feverish dreams, back at the cabin, where he had heard them echoing around him distantly.

Connor startled when a hand touched his shoulder and he cowered; unable to turn around and face his father; thoughts, memories and feelings swirling inside of his head violently.

“I know it wasn’t you.”, Haytham said quietly.

Connor’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, but…”, the young man started. It hadn’t been him, but it _could have_ been. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want it anymore. But what use was saying all that? How many more times did he want to be rejected? It was pointless and dangerous to stay around his father; he had been foolish to think –

“There is something I did not tell you before.”, Haytham’s voice sounded, and finally, with some sort of guardedness, Connor turned around to face the other; unsure what this was about. Hugging himself tightly, he tried not to have his thoughts run off into a million directions and instead listen to what Haytham actually had to say. His back was pressed against the door now; a last, futile attempt to have some space between them. It didn’t help that Haytham was so close now – the black t-shirt leaving little to imagination, and his boxers equally so.

“When I spoke with you – your… _other_ you – at the hospital, he said something that made me realize something I had not… perhaps had no _wanted_ to understand before.”

Connor hugged himself tighter; trying to keep a clear head.

“The party… three years ago. It was you, wasn’t it?”

For a brief moment, the world around Connor spun, and he did his best not to falter. “Y-you didn’t know?”, he brought out numbly; briefly glancing up to meet Haytham's stare. Had it been… so unremarkable? Had he been so… unrecognizable? Understanding trickled through him – Haytham had never brought it up because he hadn’t realized – so that day, at the hotel, Connor’s offer – his needy plea – had come out of nowhere for Haytham. Swallowing heavily, he wanted to leave more than ever; it was the same desire to clear his head and get distance between them that had made him flee the hotel. He felt stupid – it had meant _so much_ to him – and it had meant _nothing_ to Haytham. No wonder the other had rejected him… There had never been anything between them in the first place.

_“Connor...”_

The young man tried to focus on the other's frame before him, but he just felt miserable and shameful; hugging himself tightly and pressing his back against the door as if he could fall through it and disappear once more. He almost flinched when Haytham’s hands brushed along his shoulders. Even though he wished to fling himself into the other’s arms and sob like he had in the hospital, he knew that he had made a fool of himself enough already.

“I didn’t want to know. I don’t do… relationships.”, Haytham said quietly, and the young man tried to nod. “It’s not that I didn’t think about it.”, the older man added quietly, and Connor glanced up once more; trying to swallow down the tears of embarrassment and bitterness and latch onto the hopeful implications of Haytham's words. “The year after, I wanted to…” Haytham paused for a brief moment; his bright eyes almost appearing… melancholic. “Wanted to find you again at the party. But I got injured on a mission and spent the day at home.”

Mutely, Connor nodded again. He clung to those words that it had meant something – and yet, it didn’t change anything, did it?

“He – you – said something else.”, Haytham continued quietly; his fingers still resting on Connor’s shoulders, as if the young man had to be held in place so he didn’t disappear; and in a way, it was true. “He told me that we… slept with each other in his time, and he asked me if I still wanted him.”

Connor perked up at that instinctively; his heart lurching in his chest. He had wondered about this other self and his relationship to their father – perhaps they were not so different after all… “A-and what did you tell him?”, he brought out hoarsely; his heart beating in the back of his throat still.

Haytham’s bright stare was locked with his own gaze, and Connor wished it wasn’t so easy to get lost in these steely eyes.

“I told him that what I want and what is appropriate are two different things.”

Bowing his head, the young man closed his eyes; his heart galloping and his thoughts running off into a million directions. Was Haytham saying that he did want him still? “I wouldn’t know anything about what is _appropriate_.”, Connor mumbled; unable to look his father in the eyes as he brought out words that had lingered on his tongue for a while now. “I c-can tell you about _inappropriate_. And about _want._ Like, how I had a crush on you when I researched you for my job. How I spied at Abstergo for the Assassins and went home fantasizing about you finding out about it and fucking me into submission i-in front of your people. Or how I spread my legs for you in that bathroom stall, fully well knowing who you were a-and that I was supposed to be your enemy. O-or how I found out you were my father, and still, I would remember that party, and jerk off to the memory; wishing for it to happen again.” He shuddered; both embarrassed and relieved to just say it out loud – these days of biting his tongue were over. “Or… how I was at the cabin, in the middle of nowhere, realizing that what I wanted from you wasn’t just sex. That I wanted to be with you; know you… _Yeah._ Maybe it wasn’t me moving into your lap just now and getting a boner from that closeness, but it _could’ve_ been, and you should know that. You should know that after everything, I still feel the same, and it’s not _appropriate_ at all.”

With his cheeks burning, he forced himself to glance up again; to find his father's gaze and figure out what weighed more heavily - what was proper and appropriate, or what they _both_ seemed to want.


	8. The Last Dream

**3 years later**

Connor pulled the blanket around him tighter and stared up into the sky. He had brought the huge chair onto the edge of the porch so that he could look more easily past the roof and towards the sky. It was December, and as every year now, he was here, out in the middle of nowhere; clearing his head and taking a breath from his turbulent life in the city. It was cold, but he didn’t want to go inside just yet. Instead, he curled in on himself and traced the constellations with his gaze; thinking of the visions from three years ago, and wondering how his other self was doing.

The visions had stopped two and a half years ago, just around the time Haytham had gotten into a near-fatal motorcycle accident.

The CEO had been on a mission overseas during the summer after Connor's disappearance. He had been in pursuit of a target, when, as he had phrased it, he suddenly couldn’t see anymore, and had crashed into traffic. Haytham had been more dead than alive when he had been brought into the Abstergo facility a day later; barely stabilized by first aid crews and the hospital staff in Europe. Connor had gotten news just hours after it had happened, and he had anxiously awaited his father’s transferral at the Abstergo medical facility. He had spent many sleepless nights there; waiting for the confirmation that his father would pull through at all – with surgery after surgery leaving him with nothing to do but wait and hope his father would make it. And even once the doctors had tentatively confirmed that Haytham was stable, Connor had to wait another day to be allowed to see him. Haytham had suffered a broken neck, a broken pelvis, a collapsed lung due to several broken ribs, and multiple other fractures of his wrists and legs.Connor would never forget how he had looked in the hospital; barely recognizable and so heavily bandaged, constrained and sedated that he had burst out in tears the moment he had walked into the room. Luckily, his father hadn't been conscious to watch his pitiful reaction, Connor had thought.

In the weeks following, Haytham had received several additional surgeries, and it took a long while before Haytham was actually responding to questions about what the hell had happened – how he had run into traffic head-on at nearly 120 miles per hour. The doctors had agreed that he was lucky to even be alive; to have kept his limbs and not be paralyzed from the neck down, but what they couldn’t explain was the damage to his eyes – they had all agreed that it looked like a healed injury rather than a fresh one. That, too, required surgery, but only after Haytham was otherwise stable. His eyesight was restored completely, even though no one could understand how he had lost it in the first place.

The months of hospitalization and recovery had changed the Templar, and his right-hand man Mr Shay Cormac had succeeded him as Grand Master and CEO of Abstergo during this time. It had been a time full of anxiety for Connor, and only afterwards he had realized that not _once_ had he had visions or moments of being pulled back into the past. Since then, it had never happened again, and he wondered if there was some sort of connection, but he could not understand how or why. In the half year leading up to the accident, he had gotten glimpses of the tundra occasionally, but it had stopped completely afterwards.

The young man had been by his father’s side throughout all those weeks and months; holding his hand at the hospital, and supporting Haytham as he went through physical rehab – having to build up his abilities to walk again, and letting his spine heal after the surgery. Haytham was irritable and shut-off in these weeks, and it was not always easy for Connor to know how to support the other; to know what Haytham needed. He built a true friendship with Shay during that time, and their best idea had eventually been to provide Haytham with a laptop and let him work as much as he could. This had eased the older man's irritable mood somewhat, and made a lot of things easier (like, forcing Haytham to take it easy or otherwise they would take away the laptop again).

Shay had decided to let the two of them devise a special unit within Abstergo – primarily concerned with the upholding of the truce between Creed and Order, and following up on incidents from both sides that may go against it, or infringe on the agreements some way or another. They had recruited both Assassin and Templar agents, and within a few weeks, the taskforce was up and running. It had remained active since then, and Connor liked his new job. Haytham was heading the taskforce, even though Shay had emphasized several times that he would readily move over and have Haytham resume his position as CEO and Grand Master. But as of yet, Haytham had not pursued that option. In a way, Connor was glad about it, because it meant that Haytham was less likely to become a target, and he wasn't travelling as much, either.

As time went on, Connor had understood more about why Haytham had been so irritable and closed off during his time at the hospital and rehab; being stripped of his physical abilities and his ability to work and be in control of his life and career were cutting deep into his coping mechanisms. It had become particularly clear one evening that Connor thought back to often. Haytham had been heavily sedated after he had refused pain medication earlier that day and almost passed out. Connor had sat by his side, busying himself with his phone, and only realizing that Haytham had woken up when the other started to speak. The Templar had started talking about his family; perhaps prompted by dreams he had had, or perhaps because he had wanted to talk about it for a while but never found a good moment. It probably wasn’t something he would have spoken of if he hadn’t been so heavily drugged, but Connor had been both shocked and glad to hear these things. It had meant a lot to him to know more about his father’s upbringings, and served to understand the other’s obsession with work and making himself 'useful'.

When Haytham was released from rehab over half a year after the accident, Connor was by his side; having prepared the apartment for his father’s return and trying to be discretely useful every step along the way. And all that time, Connor’s affection and admiration hadn’t wavered. Even seeing his father powerless, injured, physically weakened and irritable, he had never wished to be anywhere else than by the other’s side. It hadn’t always been easy, and their relationship had had hiccups, but every day, Connor had been glad to call the other his partner; his secret lover, family in more than one way.

“What are you still doing out here?”

The young man turned his head; snapped out his memories. Smiling, he scooted over a little to allow the other to squeeze next to him. “Just enjoying the clear sky.”, he mumbled.

Haytham followed his invitation and sat down next to his son; wrapping an arm around the young man and pulling him close. The Templar followed the other’s gaze upwards. But Connor’s eyes trailed over to watch the man next to him; the small smile lingering on his lips as his heart was tight and full with the affection he held for him. The night sky reflected beautifully in the other’s bright eyes, and Connor couldn’t help but lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of Haytham’s mouth.

The Templar glanced at him; a brow raised and a smile tugging at his lips visibly.

“Are you done with work?”, Connor asked. They were connected to the outside world via satellite, and Connor was glad about the notion that they were not cut off from help if they needed it. For Haytham it was a means to feel (and be) useful while he enjoyed some days away from the city.

The Templar gave an affirmative hum; still holding his son’s gaze. “Come, let’s warm you up. You must be freezing after sitting out here for so long.”

Giving a hum, Connor disentangled himself from the blanket and followed his father inside.

The cabin belonged to Haytham, and it had all modern amenities one could wish for. It was well-heated while eco-friendly, and had a security system that would protect them from intruders as well as from adverse weather conditions. There was a safe room as well as a basement equipped with rations and fuel to survive several years. It all made Connor feel safe – along with not being just by himself. As he entered the cabin now, he realized that Haytham had put on the fire, and he joined the older man on the fur laid across the floor in front of it. It was cozy and warm, and Connor snuggled into the other contently. For a moment, he enjoyed the peaceful crackling of the fire, and the warmth slowly creeping back into his cool skin. “Didn’t you say you’re gonna warm me up?”, he muttered after a while, shifting to catch his father’s glance.

With amusement, Haytham returned his gaze. “Ah? Is this not what you think I had in mind?”

Connor shook his head; his fingers brushing along the top of Haytham’s sweater. “No, I think you had other plans…”

The older man gave an amused huff. “You know me well, then, boy.” He more or less pulled Connor into his lap, and the young man eagerly shifted there. Their lips met in a kiss, and Connor gave a soft sigh of delight; parting his lips and enjoying the play of tongues, the nip of teeth on their lips, and the mingled breath coming heavier as their kiss deepened.

Haytham’s strong hands held him; slipping beneath his sweater and brushing along Connor’s broad frame; coming to rest on his ass and squeezing him playfully.

“Better?”, Haytham asked breathlessly without breaking their kiss entirely.

Connor pulled away enough to speak; panting softly as he gazed at his beloved. “Not… not _quite._ Maybe it helps if I pull off my sweater?”

Chuckling at the logic of it, Haytham helped him get rid off that particular piece of clothing, and as soon as Connor’s bare chest presented itself to him, he started to press sloppy kisses and appreciative little nips to the bronze skin. Connor gasped in delight; loving the way the older man’s lips and tongue and teeth felt on him; accompanied by his father’s knowing touches. He shuddered when Haytham sucked on his nipples, and brushed his fingers along the insides of Connor’s thighs. Haytham knew well how to touch him by now; how to get him needy and aroused in no time.

And Connor was entirely comfortable in the other’s arms; pliant in Haytham’s grip, and eager to lose himself in those pleasurable attentions that made him feel whole; loved, cared for and appreciated by the one person he didn’t want to be without.

“Ah – _nh,_ ah, I think – it’d be better if you’d… take off your sweater, too, actually.”, Connor remarked breathlessly; his fingers tugging at his father’s clothing impatiently.

“Very well, if you think that will help you warm up…”, Haytham remarked playfully and leaned back enough to allow Connor to pull the sweater over his father’s head. The surgical scars running over his father’s body were a familiar sight for the young man, and he did not mind them. After all, they were a sign of the other’s resilience; his survival of what could have been fatal. He remembered the other’s body without them, surely, but there was no bitterness clouding that memory. If anything, he was glad he could be there by the other’s side, no matter what.

“Yeah, this is better… you’re so hot, really helping me warm up…”

Haytham snorted. “Don’t be corny, boy.”

“More like… _horny.”_

Haytham rolled his eyes but Connor could see that he was holding back at least a grin. “Don’t push it.”

“Or what?”

“There will be consequences.”, Haytham purred, and Connor loved that tone of voice; that playful glisten in his father’s bright eyes.

“Is that a promise?”, he muttered, but before Haytham could reply, Connor crashed their lips together again in a hungry kiss. Their bodies were flushed against each other now, and the young man enjoyed the warmth of the other’s chest against his own; the way he could practically feel his’ and Haytham’s heartbeat coming into synch.

“Let me…” Connor pulled away enough to speak; his breath coming heavier now. “Let me get what we need.”

Haytham willingly let him go, though remarked, “We can retreat to the bedroom, too, you know.”

“No, it’s nice here by the fire.”

Connor meant to fetch just the lube they would need to proceed, but as he got it from their bedroom, his gaze fell upon his suitcase in the corner, and on a whim, he retrieved a certain small, brown parcel from it. It contained some lingerie he had wanted to model for his father at some point. Why not now?, he thought to himself and hurriedly undressed further to put it on. There were more pieces than he put on, but he wasn’t in the mood for the whole set. The white lace panties were theoretically in a set with a garter belt that held up fishnet stockings, but Connor wasn’t in the mood to put on either. Instead, he put on just the panties and a the matching white lace bra – see-through and delicate. It wasn’t the first time he was wearing lingerie for Haytham, and he both felt sexy and knew that his father liked it.

Before he left the bedroom, he undid his hair and shook it so it fell nicely over his shoulders; taking a brief look in the mirror and being struck by how much he enjoyed this – all of this. He felt comfortable in the outfit, and looked forward to seeing Haytham’s expression once he laid eyes on him. His fingers brushed along the scar on his stomach; for the second time today struck by the memories of three years ago. The level of comfort he had reached with the other since then was incredible; the ability to have been there for the other at one of the most difficult times in Haytham’s life, and that the other – while not particularly vocal about his affections – made him feel loved, appreciated and cared for in ways that Connor hadn’t thought were possible.

With these feelings in his heart, he stopped in the doorframe of the living room for a moment; watching Haytham as he waited for Connor’s return. The older man sat on the fur by the fireplace; eyes closed and seemingly enjoying the warmth radiating from the flames. The flickering light cast soft and lively shadows on his pale, scarred skin, and Connor thought that he looked beautiful. For a brief moment, he was reminded of the bear he had seen in the woods – back when he had been so entangled in those strange glimpses of a life that wasn’t really his’. With a shudder, he shook off those distant moments of loneliness and despair.

“I love you so much, you know.”, he said quietly; in absolute awe of where their relationship had gone in the past three years.

Haytham cracked his eyes open and found Connor’s silhouette in the doorframe. His gaze ran over the young man’s frame and seemed to appreciate the way the lingerie fitted his broad, muscular frame. Patting his lap, he invited the young man to come closer again, and Connor happily complied. He placed the lube next to them just to have his hands free and fling his arms around his father’s shoulders once more.

A slow, tender kiss welcomed him back, and he could feel how Haytham’s hands brushed through his long hair and over his exposed skin; playing with the lace of his panties and slipping beneath his bra to tease his nipples. Connor gasped and sighed into their kiss with delight; warmth and lust suffusing him pleasantly.

As Haytham’s lips trailed downwards, Connor leaned backwards to give the other better access. Moaning lowly, he enjoyed the kisses and bites to his skin; the way Haytham’s firm touches teased his favourite spots on their exploration of his body. When the other’s slick fingers slipped underneath his panties and started to tease his entrance, he realized that he had been too distracted to even notice that Haytham had taken some of the lube already. Another wanton moan left Connor’s throat when Haytham’s fingers plunged inside of him. He arched his back; his hips trembling as he bit his lips and just melted into the older man’s knowing touches; closing his eyes and just focusing on the way his body felt like in Haytham’s embrace. The Templar’s lips were trailing over his chest, and Connor was too distracted to even really reciprocate. His fingers were now curled into the fur beneath them as he leaned back enough to present his chest to the other, while his hips still rested in Haytham’s lap; greedily pressing back against his father’s fingers whenever he thrust them inside of him.

It was easy to lose himself in this sweet rhythm; in this feeling of being loved and desired. He enjoyed living in New York with Haytham, but these days away from the city were always something special; something he looked forward to for months. The first year they had retreated here had still been a time of recovery for Haytham, and they had not stayed as long as the following year. Connor’s memories of spending Christmas here that first year were fond ones regardlessly, and hehad fully enjoyed the holidays last year. It was a time of good food, thoughtful presents, plans for the future, and warming up in any way they felt like.

He was snapped out of his hazy, affectionate considerations when he felt his father’s thick, slick cock rub against the curve of his ass – once more having missed Haytham slicking himself up for their union as he was enjoying the other’s skilful attentions. “Ah – yes –”, he brought out eagerly; opening his eyes again and finding Haytham’s gaze resting on him. He adored how the other looked now – his face slightly flushed, too, and the fire still giving his pale features a golden warmth. His bright eyes were intense and wanton, and Connor shuddered at being focused on so wholly. “W-want you so much!”, Connor added impatiently; pressing into Haytham’s fingers and hoping to be filled out more in just a moment.

Raising an eyebrow, the Templar seemed pleased by the younger man’s needy utterances, and guided Connor into a position better suited for where this was heading. He held the panties aside just enough to let his cock press against the young man’s entrance rather than actually taking the lingerie off. Connor’s arousal peeked from the lace obscenely, and the panties were already wet with pre-come. A rough moan passed over the younger man’s lips when he slowly pressed himself down onto his father’s cock; as always both delighted and intimidated by the other’s size and girth; enjoying the stretch and feeling of fulness as he eased himself downwards.

“Ah, fuck – _nh_ – ” Connor was panting; eyes squeezed shut as he took in his father’s cock further. He could feel Haytham’s hands brush over his body distractingly; even giving his cock a few strokes to help him relax and ease up around the other’s member. Haytham’s lips trailed over his neck, and Connor willingly tilted his head to give the other better access; moaning and gasping whenever Haytham sucked a bit more forcefully or bit down playfully. He loved seeing these little marks and hickeys linger on his body for a day or two; trailing over them in the mirror with the knowledge that all of this was real; that these were signs of his father’s inappropriate desire and affection for him. That in the end, what they both wanted weighed more heavily than what was appropriate. And Connor was happy; every step along the way, easy or not.

Slowly, Connor started to move his hips; releasing Haytham’s cock slightly just to press down onto it again; filling himself over and over again. It was a slow rhythm in the beginning; just to get used to the delicious feeling of being so entirely full of his beloved, and to find his balance in Haytham’s lap. His gaze was resting on Haytham now with soft sounds of pleasure leaving his lips plentiful. He watched the older man press kisses to his sweaty skin, and push aside the bra just enough to tease Connor’s nipples with his mouth and fingers in ways that Haytham knew the younger man enjoyed. Once he felt confident enough, Connor picked up the pace, and noted with delight how Haytham started to get much more distracted by the pleasant feeling of his cock being enveloped by his son’s hot, tight body again and again. A few dark, low moans were breathed out against Connor’s damp skin, and the young man shuddered both at the sensation and the sound of it; loving to hear his father’s noises of pleasure. Haytham’s grip on his ass and hip tightened, and the Templar moved upwards in unison with Connor’s motions downward; their bodies meeting in a rougher, frantic pace now.

Connor adjusted the angle with which he pushed down just slightly; jolting softly as Haytham’s cock brushed past his prostate a bit more firmly now. A low growl left the older man’s flushed lips, and he pulled away enough to watch Connor closely. Haytham’s hair was messy now; his cheeks and lips flushed. His breath was coming in soft pants, too, and Connor couldn’t help but beam at him as he allowed the pleasure to slowly suffuse him. “Love you…!”, he muttered lowly; moaning still whenever Haytham slid inside of him fully. “C-coming – S-so close!”, the young man warned breathlessly; his rhythm growing more erratic as he had troubles focusing on the orchestrated movements along Haytham’s cock.

“Good boy.”, Haytham praised lowly, and Connor shuddered. He loved these phrases of praise, and Haytham knew it well.

“Ah – _yes_ – H-Haytham – _please_ –!” He couldn’t help these low, needy words from pouring over his lips as he got closer and closer to that delightful edge; that rush of pleasure and wonder – the incredible feeling of being able to let go and find himself in his father’s arms when he surfaced from that blissful wave.

Crying out the older man’s name, Connor came; arching his back and spilling over his chest as he threw back his head and cramped in ecstatic pleasure. Panting softly, he collapsed into the other’s arms; nuzzling into his father as he only slowly came down from the wonderful high. He could still feel the other inside of him, though Haytham had stilled his motions and held him close now; brushing his hands over Connor’s back and through his loose hair.

Haytham cupped Connor’s cheek once the young man had caught his breath, and gently urged him into a tender kiss. Connor felt warm and fuzzy in the other’s embrace; his body tingling from the afterglow of the orgasm, and his mind pleasantly distracted by the kiss and the feeling of Haytham still being fully seated inside of him.

When the other urged him down onto the fur beneath them, Connor let himself be manhandled willingly; pleasantly exhausted and pliant in his father’s grip. Only when Haytham slid out of him, he gave a disappointed noise of loss; enjoying the feeling of their connection all too much. He was sprawled out on the fur now; the lingerie a bit displaced but still framing his broad frame beautifully. Come glistened on his chest, and his dark hair radiated out from him; sweat shimmering on his bronze skin, while the fire cast soft shadows across his muscular body.

Haytham leaned over him; doubtlessly enjoying the view. The hand that wasn’t propping him up above the younger man brushed along Connor’s side; tracing the other’s muscular curves with appreciation.

Only when the older man shifted backwards further, Connor hazily understood what Haytham was about to do. He gave a delighted gasp when the older man leaned over him and pulled aside the panties enough to bare his cock. With knowing touches, Haytham’s fingers ran along it; soon joined by his lips and tongue. Curling one of his hands into the fur beneath him and the other into Haytham’s silky hair, Connor pressed his head back and moaned lowly. Haytham gave the best head, Connor thought vaguely; spreading his legs a little more and finding himself hard again soon after his father started to bob his head. Allowing more noises of pleasure and delight to leave him, Connor closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Haytham’s tongue pressing against the head of his cock; the way the other’s lips pressed against his hot erection with just the right pressure to add to the friction of it pressing against the roof of Haytham’s mouth, and every now and then, enter the tight back of his throat. The other’s hands were steadying Connor’s cock and also playing with his balls in ways that Haytham knew Connor enjoyed. The younger man vaguely wished that the other would start fucking him with his fingers again, and only moments later, he could feel how the other plunged his fingers into Connor’s slick body once more as if he had guessed the young man's train of thought.

 _“Nh_ – you’re really… spoiling me today…”, Connor moaned breathlessly; glancing down at his father’s head between his legs.

Haytham moved off of his cock, and there was a mild expression on his face when he replied quietly, “You've got that wrong, boy. It’s _you_ who’s spoiling _me._ You have, for a long while now.”

Connor’s heart lurched in his chest and a small smile spread on his flushed lips. His fingers dropped down to trace his father’s features; speechless by the gentle and affectionate tone of the other’s voice.

Haytham leaned into the touch, and after a moment of silence, he added ever so quietly, “I can’t express what it really means to me, Connor. But I hope you know.”

The young man cupped the other’s cheeks and urged him to move upwards; half-sitting up himself to meet the other’s lips in a kiss as soon as he could. Wrapping his arms around the other, Connor deepened the kiss immediately; his heart overflowing with affection as he held his beloved close. “I know. You show me plenty.”, he whispered into their kiss; pulling away just enough to speak with his lips still brushing against his father’s and meeting them again in a breathless kiss as soon as he had spoken.

Their embrace was less heated now and instead, sloppy and tender; a lazy, lustful lovemaking. Connor slowly sank back onto the fur; pulling his father with him and wrapping his legs around the other’s waist once Haytham moved close. He broke their kiss with soft gasps and moans when Haytham slid inside of him once more; pressing his head back into the fur as he enjoyed their new, gentle rhythm and the feeling of being so wonderfully full and connected to his loved one again. Haytham’s face was buried in the crook of his neck now, and Connor delighted in the way the other’s breath waved over his skin hotly, and every now and then, he could even hear dark little moans escape the Templar’s lips. Connor held onto the other tightly; soaking in the affection and warmth of their lovemaking.

It was Haytham whose motions grew erratic first, and Connor urged the other to pull away enough so that they could see each other. With their foreheads pressed together, their sloppy rhythm grew hungrier and rougher; wanting to find pleasure in each other, and climax together. Connor loved the look on the other’s face now – loved the knowledge of the other’s deep affections and desire.

He couldn’t say who got pushed over the edge first, but it was a blissful, shared moment when they came undone – Haytham coming inside of him, and Connor spilling between them hotly. Haytham sagged on top of him, and they remained in their embrace for a while longer as their breath slowly calmed down.

“You feel properly warmed up?”, Haytham mumbled against the young man’s skin, and Connor couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Yeah, thanks.”

* * *

That night, Connor had a strange dream – it was the last time he ever dreamed of the tundra.

He found himself amidst the snow again. It was early or late – the light was diffuse and allowed the view over an array of sticks and posts having been arranged in a strange fashion. There were carved figurines there; things that had belonged to someone; a parka, a bear fur, weapons; laid out and displayed against the white, snowy backdrop. And in his hand, he glimpsed that glowing pendant he had seen before. It was tied to one of the large figurines that looked like a bear, and it seemed as if he had only briefly touched it to hold it.

He stared down at it; sadness and guilt washing over him, though he did not know why. A dark loneliness accompanied these feelings; a feeling so relentless and harsh that the pendant slipped from his trembling fingers.

As he let go of the pendant, he woke up again; staring up into his father’s bright, concerned gaze. He realized that tears were dropping down from his lashes, though he didn’t know why.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah… just a bad dream.”, Connor mumbled, wrapping his arms around the older man and burying his face in the other’s warm chest. Haytham placed an arm around him, and slowly, that feeling of loneliness and guilt washed away. Breathing in the other's soothing scent and listening to his father's heartbeat, Connor felt lucky. And yet, somewhere in the back of his head, Connor knew that, if their lives were entangled in more than just this time and place, they hadn’t always been this lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it - The Moon Series is finished. What did you think?
> 
> Thanks for your support of both Voyage to the Moon & this addition. I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks again for your kudos and comments!! ❤️


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